


Brooklyn Flowers

by halo_dean



Series: Something they can never take away [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: ALWAYS READ THE NOTES KIDS, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art School, Cancer, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, I don't actually speak Spanish and French i'm just improvising lmao, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Leukemia, Lots of Cursing, M/M, Multi, New York City, This gets sad, Why is Alex crying all the time is it me projecting, also lin don't read this at all plS, i promise this is not all sad there's also happiness in here guys, physical and emotional abuse is mentioned, so much slow burn and i'm sorry, the tws are also in the notes of the particular chapters, this is my first lams fic please be gentle, underage drinking but you don't really notice it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 208,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9695501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halo_dean/pseuds/halo_dean
Summary: Alex, 19 years old and recently graduated from high school, isn't planning to settle down in New York, a city he's always associated with his sick mother. But then he meets John, the young, radiant florist with artistic talents and anxiety issues, and Alex' world turns upside down.Completed: September 19th, 2017





	1. Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> So, FLOWER SHOP AUS.  
> In my opinion, the genre of the Flower Shop AU is definitely underappreciated and so I decided to put my own, angstyfluffyshitty one out there. The world will never have enough of John Laurens in an apron and Alexander Hamilton taking too few showers.  
> I will tag whatever trigger warnings you will ask me to, please go and spam my tumblr account nordpolkind.tumlr.com  
> I will try to update regularly but I won't if I have a mental breakdown and end up crying with ice cream and a writer's block, soz. I very much hope you enjoy reading!!  
> (Also English isn't my first language and this is my first Lams/Hamilton fanfiction, please be gentle.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything starts with a sunrise, a dodled turtle, a hospital room and a bouquet of sunflowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was amazingly beta'd by Emma, thanks love!

  
JOHN LAURENS LOOKED DOWN AT THE BOUQUET OF SUNFLOWERS IN HIS ARMS.   
  
They were huge, glaring up at him with their bright yellow petals, and when John tilted his head just so, he could see the droplets of water sitting on their large leaves. It had probably rained overnight in the place they came from; they had just been delivered alongside a truckload of other flowers, tulips, peonies, roses and lilies and gerberas, large boxes of spring plants and those small cacti and succulents Eliza wouldn’t stop ordering that just kept selling out. After Herc and her had left for Laf’s coffee shop down the street to get breakfast, John was now the only employee left at the shop to put away the deliveries and prearrange a couple of bouquets for the course of the day.  
  
At first, when he’d started forking at the small flower shop in Brooklyn – tastefully and creatively named _Brooklyn Flowers_ – about ten months ago, John had thought it’d be just another one of the part-time jobs he’d applied for a lot during spring last year after having moved to New York. He’d figured he’d be gone in a while anyway; swept up by the city’s currents, back down in South Carolina, gone one way or another, and that being a florist would just pay rent and pass the loads and loads of time he had on his hands, but the simplicity and order of the job had quite grown on him.  
It had turned out to be exactly what he’d needed after graduating high-school and moving away from home to finish his portfolio, apply to art school and finally get away from his father for good. He’d come here last year as a mess, and lived as a mess in a too small, smelly apartment at the edge of Williamsburg for a while. He’d spent his days drawing and strolling aimlessly through the streets, looking for work or just something to do, silently begging the city for help and feeling naïve for doing so.   
Despite his pointless personification of the city, though, it hadn’t been too long until he’d been stumbled upon by of a couple of people more like him than anyone he’d ever met, and one of them, Lafayette, had introduced him to someone who could offer him a job here; a job that turned out to be simple and peaceful, in a quiet place that always smelled of water and potting soil and herbs and plants and flowers and a hint of coffee from the café occupying part of the shop. _Brooklyn Flowers_ had become his safe space where nobody who knew him from his past could just pop in any second, where, except for the people he wanted in his life, nobody really knew him, or his father, for that matter.   
  
What he’d really needed after leaving home, was a fresh start. And this place, _Brooklyn Flowers_ ; it even smelled like a fresh start.  
  
John tucked a loose strand of curls behind his ear and smiled faintly to himself as he stepped outside through the wide open glass door, the surface of it covered in posters that people employing or looking for their lost pets or selling their old guitars had left there, animal protection fliers, the wifi name, an ‘open’ sign. He placed the sunflowers in a bucket on the steel shelf next to the tulips he’d already carried outside, picking one of the price tags that he’d doodled earlier off the pocket on his apron and pinning it to the bucket.   
He wiped his hands on the fabric of his jeans and turned around, squinted against the light of the rising sun.  
  
It was going to be a nice day, cool, but clear.  
  
John lingered outside for another moment, looking at the sunrise on the slowly awakening street with a smile still playing around his lips.  
  
  
WHILE JOHN WAS ALREADY UP, downtown and working, Alexander Hamilton stood at the kitchen counter in his studio, an open book about the history of the US financial system and a steaming cup of black coffee in front of him between stove and sink. The dim, slow morning light dragged its fingers through the halfway open kitchen window and over Alex’ messy hair as he disgruntledly flipped a page and leaned down slightly to blow on his coffee.  
  
As he straightened again, coffee in hand and frown in place, he remembered that he didn’t use to dislike mornings too much. They used to give him the feeling of having a new shot at life and the world giving him another chance, and at this time of the year, in March, they were cool and sweet and cleared his head of thoughts, but somehow, mornings weren’t half as nice when they were spent lonely in this strange apartment.  
  
In New York, mornings were different to him than upstate, where he used to live with his brother, and when his brother moved, just his foster family, and the only proper reason Alex could think of for that was that he just didn’t belong here.  
  
He didn’t belong in this apartment, and his mother didn’t belong in that goddamn hospital – not again.  
  
She’d gotten out just in July last year, a couple of months after his high school graduation, and Washington had said she was fine, but about eight weeks later, her cancer had returned, and she had to go back, and it just didn’t seem fair on any level.  
  
Alex stared down at the cup in his hands, thoughts stumbling around lazily in his head and glanced at his watch. He let out a sigh, ran a hand through his hair and pulled it into a half-hearted bun. The visiting hours were from 9 am to 1 pm, and he wasn’t going to spend a single second of that away from his mother.  
He got up and downed his coffee, burning his tongue and throat in the process and trotting to the bedroom to get ready.  
  
After taking a cold, low-pressured and therefore pretty quick shower and throwing on a baggy gray T-shirt and Jeans, he was on the street, his backpack slung over his shoulder, his hair still damp. The air was fresh and cool, clinging on to that slight February-chill, reminding Alex that winter wasn’t quite over yet as goose bumps rose on the skin of his arms. He should probably have taken a jacket with him.  
  
When he’d moved down from upstate to the city in August, he’d tried to get an apartment as close to the hospital in Brooklyn as possible, but now it was almost twenty blocks away, after all. The area was cheaper than most of New York, but the drafty studio on the northeast side of the building had still been the best Alex could afford without finding himself a roommate. The landlord Thomas Dipnall, who had just caught up with him in the hallway to snarl at him about something concerning the separation of the trash was a bit annoying at times, and the noisy, messy neighbors terrified Alex for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he hadn’t been evicted or lost his mind yet, so that was something.   
He was still more or less procrastinating looking for a job, but he had graduated high school at the very top of his class, and he still had an offer for a place at Columbia that he was also still procrastinating accepting, and with the two of those combined on his resume, getting a job would be easy when the time came.  
  
The main problem with both finding a job and signing up for classes was that Alex wasn’t actually planning to settle in New York City.  
It was undoubtedly a beautiful city, but to him, it’d always seemed kind of pretentious to move to New York to rise up and fulfill dreams – as if that wasn’t harder in New York, where everything felt more expensive and hard to get into than in any other place in the states _._  
It sounded ridiculous and naïve and he generally didn’t want to be one of the people who did that. He was just here to be with his mother, and as soon as she was better, he would leave and start a new life somewhere else, because screw Columbia, screw the breathtakingly deft, striking beauty of the city _,_ he didn't want to stay here.  
  
Alex watched his short legs as he walked down the street. It was surprisingly quiet out here; there was the usual traffic, but only a few pedestrians and cyclists. Alex shoved his hands into his pockets and blamed the quiet on the time of day and location of his apartment as he yawned and passed a small flower shop.  
  
He slowed down, not quite knowing why and lifted his head to look at the iron sign above the door. The sunlight shone on the capital letters that read _Brooklyn Flowers_ , and Alex found himself staring and snorting weakly at the creativity of the name.  
  
Trying to think of the reason why he had now stopped walking entirely, he eyed the shop’s façade, smiling when he spotted the sunflowers at the bottom of a small shelf on the sidewalk by the door.  
They were damp and glistening in the morning light, and Alex found himself wondering where the hell the shop had gotten sunflowers from at this time of the year.   
It had been a while since he’d brought Rachel flowers to the hospital, and he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing – he was definitely not in the financial place to impulsively buy expensive sunflowers for little to no reason – as he ascended the two crumbling concrete steps leading up to the open door, and, smiling at the small jingle of a probably digital bell somewhere, walked into the store.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Laurens, stop drawing turtles on my shit!" was the first thing Alex heard when he came in, followed by a rumble, a shitload of evil laughter and a door slamming.  
  
He couldn't hold back a confused grin as he looked around himself. The shop was homely and bright, kept in cool colors and filled to the brim with flowers and plants. Music was playing, currently switching from something instrumental that Alex vaguely recognized as Ghibli soundtrack to a Conan Gray song as he looked around himself, took in plants and naked lightbulbs and a small group of wooden tables and chairs, an old-fashioned coffee machine with mismatched cups and a bookshelf inviting the customers to bring and exchange books by the shop windows, an arrangement that looked like a small café, the kind he wanted to spend hours drinking coffee and writing in.  
The main counter with the register and a white, wooden shelf filled with packs of soil, pots and cans of different sizes behind it was deserted, Alex seemed to be the only customer until a door behind a bunch of potted palm-trees flung open and two people stormed in. A tall, dark-skinned boy was chasing a giggling mess of curls, bared white teeth, and a green apron. The one chasing seemed pretty angry, his large fist clenched around another apron of the same kind, on which Alex caught a faint glimpse of a sharpie-doodled turtle.  
  
"You're a dead man, John!" A third person followed, a girl with her long, sleek black hair in a low ponytail and the prettiest smile Alex had ever seen. The three didn't seem to notice Alex standing by the door at first; the boys were too busy fighting and the girl was too busy laughing.  
  
"For real, though, what is it with you and turtles, Laurens?" The tall boy sighed, wide shoulders working as he shoved his apron into the other boy's face, an accusatory frown on his features.  
  
"I can't help what I do, Herc. You’d think y'all’d be used to it by now." John lifted and dropped his hands, and even though he had his back towards Alex, he could hear him smirk; he sounded so pleased with himself, and there was a kind of childish lightness to his voice that Alex found nothing but endearing. Herc just waved him off and grumbled something along the lines of “I’m not talking to you anymore, you’re dead to me.” and turned around to show the turtle to the girl, soundly starting to complain about how flat it was.   
Alex found himself kind of stopping to pay attention to what they were saying, though, because while John was getting defensive about his turtle drawing skills – “It’s supposed to look like that, Mulligan, you living flop” – Alex had time to take a proper look at him, finally taking note of the fact that his curly mess of dark hair pulled up into a now disheveled bun couldn't hide the top of his neck and the skin of his shoulder where his white t-shirt had slipped down a bit-  
  
And Alex stared. Because in all his life, he had never seen so damn many freckles.  
  
They were mapped out wildly across John’s tan skin like stars, thousands and thousands, and Alex instantly wondered if they continued down the boy's chest or up his neck, and what it might take to find out.  
  
In that moment, the girl finally spotted Alex, staring at John as he awkwardly waited by the door. She blushed and punched Herc's arm.  
  
"Boys, we have a customer." She lifted her hand, waving at him with a grin. "Good morning. Sorry you had to witness that. They're not like this all the time." Alex returned her smile, managed to wave it off as he only slowly returned from where his mind had wandered. _What is my problem…?_   
  
"It’s alright," he said, because it really was, when suddenly, John turned around, threw Alex a smug look over his shoulder and winked at him, slowly, as if to make sure Alex had seen it. "Lizzy's lying. We _are_ always like this," he practically purred, and Alex was glad that the girl rolled her dark eyes at John and pushed the two boys towards the back, facing Alex with an apologetic look. He was glad she did, because that wink from John's dark eyes had made his cheeks heat up in split seconds. Obviously, it was a common thing for them to do so. Alex had always been pretty much allergic to any kind of flirtatious confrontation, this was completely normal for him.  
   
"What have you done?" he heard Herc whisper, his voice a muffled hum from behind the plants as the two boys, dragged by the girl, made their way to the back room. John let out a laugh.  
  
"What do you mean?" There was a soft scoff.   
  
"Well, a) to my apron, and b) to that guy out there. Stop making our customers blush, you little shit, you'll get us arrested for sexual assault someday." John just laughed even harder at that, the sound tripping over itself into hysterics of disbelief just a little, and then a door fell shut, and the girl came back to the front, still looking a bit annoyed.  
  
She herded the flushed, quietly flustered Alex to the counter and then leaned against it.  
  
"Again, sorry about that. They tend to like, transcend tiredness at some point during the morning, and then they’re insufferable for a while. But they're both good guys, trust me." Alex grinned in an attempt to recollect himself and nodded. _They all seem so nice around here. And damn, John has a lot of freckles. And pretty hair. And a nice laugh._  
It took him a moment to realize he'd said those things out loud when Eliza – the nametag on her t-shirt read the long version of her name – burst out laughing, a bright, intoxicating sound that made Alex feel like the sky had just cleared after an overcast day. He blushed again, and suddenly, the tips of his shoes were really interesting.  
  
"Well, thanks, you seem nice, too. Now, what can I get you?" She was still grinning, her eyes watery from all the laughter on an early morning.  
Alex tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and tried to think of what exactly he'd come in here to buy in the first place. He might already have been in here for multiple hours, just watching John, Herc and Eliza laugh and banter and run around, and somehow, the thought of buying something and then having to leave the store again made his stomach itch.  
  
"Well- I was thinking, flowers?" he tried, feeling awkward and clumsy as he brushed more hair behind his ear, straightened his shirt and grinning sheepishly. She cocked an eyebrow.   
  
"Well, look around! This is a flower shop, would that be enough?" She grinned, and he remembered the sunflowers outside.   
  
"My mom’s favorite are sunflowers, so. Those, please." Eliza frowned, intrigued, as she pushed herself off of the counter and beckoned him to follow her outside.  
  
"You bring your mom flowers? That's sweet, is it her birthday?" She smiled back at him as they made their way to the door. The bell jingled again, and they drowned in warm sunlight.   
  
Alex buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans, taking a second to reply. Eliza's question about his mother had caught him off guard; he watched her kneel on the pavement, her hair falling over her shoulder as she pulled one, two, three smaller sunflowers out of the bucket Alex had seen earlier. "No, not exactly. I'm on my way to visit her at the hospital." He managed after a while.  
  
Eliza looked up with a small noise, blinking against the sunlight. She stood and reached out to touch his wrist with warm fingertips that were a little wet from the flowers. There was a softness in his eyes that reminded Alex even more of his mother. He swallowed.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Eliza said quietly, and while that was what most of the people said, it sounded very genuine when Eliza said it. Alex wondered for a second if maybe she knew what it felt like, slowly losing a loved one, if maybe, she’d lost someone, too, but before he could figure out how to ask this girl who he’d just met a question that personal, she was pulling away and smiling carefully.   
  
“Let’s get these inside, shall we?” she asked, giving the sunflowers in her arms a pet, beckoning Alex to follow her back inside, the shadiness of the shop welcoming them once they stepped inside. Eliza placed the sunflowers on the counter and started arranging them with a couple of leaves and baby's breath. Alex watched her slim hands dance around the bouquet; there was something soothing and hypnotizing about it, like Christmas lights, a blank page. _Like John's freckles.  
_  
"There you go." Alex blinked, returning to here and now when Eliza wrapped the bouquet in brown paper and pushed it across the counter with a small, satisfied smile. "That’ll be like 8 bucks. And please don't force me to actually type that into that damn register, I hate that thing," she said with a sheepish shake of her head.   
  
Alex huffed a laugh and handed her a $10 bill, muttering, "Keep the change.”  
  
"Oh. Thanks." She grinned back, and the way her voice curved upward at the end of her sentence made Alex extend his hand across the counter.   
  
"I'm Alexander Hamilton, by the way. Alex. Thank you for the flowers." She wiped her wet hands on her apron and then shook his hand.  
  
"It's nothing, Alex. So, formally, I'm Elizabeth Schuyler, and it's a pleasure to meet you. Drop by anytime, okay?" She smiled at him again as she opened the register, took a coin out and tossed it into the tip jar beside the register, a paper cup from a shop called Café Adrienne that Alex tended to pass every morning on his way to the hospital.    
  
"I will definitely drop by," he said, meant it, and grabbed the bouquet, added a “See you around!” on his way to the door that Eliza probably didn’t catch anymore.   
  
He waved at her from outside with the flowers, and she waved back with a smile before turning away. Alex could swear he caught a glimpse of a curly, freckled face from behind the glass of the big shop windows before John was dragged backward by a laughing, eye-rolling Eliza and he disappeared around the corner.  
  
  
IT WAS TEN MINUTES PAST 9 AM when Alex stood in the hospital's elevator, going up to the fifth floor.  
He now regretted having taken so long at the flower shop; he was almost angry at himself for having talked to Eliza and even angrier for having looked at John. Those were precious seconds he could and should have spent with his mother. _After all, there might not be so much time left._  
  
Alex caught himself in the middle of that thought and rolled his eyes at himself, at his own sentimentality, wiped at his eyes furiously; tried to convince himself there was nothing to feel like crying about. Rachel was going to be fine. She was going to be just fine.   
  
He was still scrabbling for purchase on clarity and positive – or at least neutral thoughts in his head as he studied his continuously tired, slightly disheveled and badly-shaved self in the mirror on the elevator wall, having to squint a little without his glasses. He felt a sudden wave of disgust rush him, tugged at his old, shirt, ran a hand through his damp hair, over his face, over his jaw, over the pouch beneath his chin, over his chest, unwilling to believe this was what he really looked like. Did he really look this worn; did he really look this exhausted?  
  
Alex turned away from the mirror, stared as the red on black number above the doors jumped from a two to a three and the elevator stopped. The doors slid open, and Alex stepped aside, and a tall man in a whitecoat stepped in, his tense face lighting up in a smile when he recognized Alex and nodded in greeting. “Good morning Alex," he said, and Alex nodded back, tugging at his shirt again self-consciously and subconsciously trying to stand up straighter in Washington’s presence.    
  
"Morning, Doctor Washington. How are things going?" Alex smiled at the other man politely, unsure why he was even asking when the last thing he wanted to do was prompt Washington to talk about his wife Martha’s pregnancy or his boss’s stupidity or any predictions he had about what the shifts of the weather would do to his back, which the doctor tended to do when asked how things were going.   
  
Washington looked up at the numbers jumping above the door, sighing, brows knitted together. “Ah, you know how it is. All the sunlight is really treating my back well, but we’ll see how it all is in the evening. Probably not that well, I won’t have a moment of peace today. I have ten appointments scheduled for today, and that’s only the regular appointments, without irregular stuff that comes up during surgery hours.” He looked back down at Alex, who hurried to nod his approval when Washington added a shrug and a “Greene is an idiot. Not even Burr’s scheduling can save me from that much work.”  
  
There was a silence, Alex still nodding, and then, Washington cleared his throat, reached to the very bottom of the arm full of folders he was holding, pulled a file forth and waved it in Alex’ general direction.   
  
“Rachel’s up today, too,” he said in a conversational tone, eyes glued to the jumping numbers as the elevator ascended. Alex watched the side of his face, then also looked up at the numbers.  
  
“How is she?" he muttered, chewing on the inside of his cheek absently. Washington glanced down at him and then opened the folder and ran his hand over his shaved head with a sigh.  
  
"I, uh...” he trailed off, leaned towards Alex so he could see the numbers, test results, the ratio of healthy cells and infected cells in Rachel’s blood, small, black numbers on cheap, white paper, someone’s signature and the hurried, crooked lab’s stamp at the bottom of the page. Alex swallowed and looked away as quickly as he could, a hand on the side of his face so Washington wouldn’t notice what a hard time he was having breathing right now.   
  
“Not so good, I reckon,” he managed, and Washington let out a shallow breath.   
  
“If I'm allowed to be honest here, which I guess I can, I'm working with about a third of what Greene had promised." Alex could tell Washington was watching him; his gaze was firm and sad, and it made Alex’ throat feel like there was a knot in it. "I'm very sorry, Alex. I'm doing everything I can." He fell silent for a moment, eyes and frown fixed on the file, then looked up and made an empty gesture towards the bouquet in Alex' arms.  
  
"You're bringing her flowers? That's nice. I’m sure it'll brighten her day a bit,” he said, back to his conversational voice, and Alex just nodded. His heart was thudding loudly, quickly in his chest, and for a second, he wondered if Washington could hear it. His knees felt weak, and his throat still so tight, and he was afraid he would start crying after all if he said something, and he didn't want that, not in front of Washington, so instead he stared at his feet and remained silent.   
  
That didn't happen often. Usually, Alex would never shut up. He was a whirlwind that raged and screamed, and there were only so few things that could leave him silent. Things like ‘not so good’. It tended to happen more frequently these days, much more frequently than Alex would have liked.  
  
The rest of the elevator was spent in quiet. The two men stood next to each other in resigned quiet, and Alex was still fighting back tears when the elevator stopped on the eleventh floor.  
  
They made their way past the quiet cancer station's reception side by side, Washington constantly checking his watch and the first folder on the stack in his arms. Their ways parted when Washington turned to open his office door, saluting to Alex with an unreadable expression before disappearing. Alex swallowed and kept walking down the seemingly endless corridor, counting the doors to keep his mind occupied.  
  
Alex pulled the backpack further up his shoulder and straightened when he reached the ninth door. He lifted his hand to knock on the wood softly. Even after all these years, his hands and knees and heart still shook when he stood in front of this door. After all these years, he still got scared that maybe, while he had been asleep, or drinking coffee, or writing, or reading, or standing in the elevator, Rachel had died. That she had left without him even being there. Because no matter how much he wished he didn’t, Alex knew the odds at this point. He’d read so many statistics, so many articles about the likelihood of the survival of a middle-aged woman with second-stage chronic myeloid leukemia and all the physical and mental side effects of seven years spent in a hospital bed. Alex knew, and so every time, in those seconds between knocking and being allowed into the room, his heart was in his throat.   
  
Alex fidgeted, letting out a low breath and knocked again. There was an annoyed noise, and then Burr’s voice came from inside. “One second,” the man shouted, and then, the door opened, and his face appeared in the gap.  
  
"Alexander, hi." He smiled briefly and stepped aside, letting Alex in.  
  
"Aaron Burr, sir. Good morning. How is she?" He slipped inside and let his backpack slide to the floor. It was warm and bright in the room, golden sunlight spilling in and onto the linoleum floor through the halfway open window and the pulled-up blinds, tracing its fingertips over the furniture and turning everything into long silhouettes on the walls and floor.  
  
"She's been asleep for hours. Asked for you. Are those for her?" The nurse pointed his finger at the flowers that Alex placed on the small table. Alex looked up at him, then back down at the flowers with a half-smile and a shrug. "Yeah, I stumbled across this nice shop a couple of blocks back and thought I'd get her something," he said, and glanced at the woman in the bed.  
  
Rachel Faucette-Hamilton used to glow. She used to smile and sing and dance and laugh and, ever so often, cry, but whatever she did, she outshone the morning sun.  
  
Alex still remembered the day she hadn't come home from the hospital. Like every Tuesday, she had told his brother James to look after him when she went to the doctor‘s because of those headaches she got. She slung her black purse over her arm and kissed them on the tops of their heads before leaving them alone with a cartoon on the TV. Alex could recall how sticky the bottle of lemonade had gotten from his grabby little hands on that violently bright, burning day in August, the way his brother's shirt was covered in sweat at his neck, the way he couldn't keep his little hands from curling around the hem of his red t-shirt anxiously.  
  
There was something in the air; something told little Alexander that Mommy wasn't coming home today. That they were going to get a call from a Dr. Heering telling them that their mother was ill, and that she was going to be okay, but that she had to stay in the hospital for a night, only one night.  
Heering asked his brother if they had someone to look after them, and while Alex was whining and tugging at his brother's hand, demanding to know what was going on, James told Dr. Heering that their cousin lived a couple of blocks away.  
  
Alex remembered James packing a backpack with fierce movements.  
  
He remembered him taking his hand on the sidewalk. Telling him to stop crying.  
  
Somehow, that one night Heering had talked about had turned into weeks, months, a move across the entire country and years of being passed around in foster families until Alex graduated and moved from upstate to the city to be with his mother.  
  
And every once in a while, on especially bad days, when he saw Rachel in the bed, he thought of that day, went over the events over and over again, trying to understand the fact that there was nothing he could have done to prevent this outcome, twisting and repeating and never quite being able to wrap his mind around how he and Burr and Washington and everyone had let it get this far.  
Life didn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it took, and it took, and it took, and it took, and now it had decided to take Rachel’s glow. And Alex couldn't do anything but watch.  
  
"Alexander, are you alright?" Burr's worried frown that Alex spotted from the corner of his eye made him snap out of his thoughts.  
  
"…Yeah.” Alex frowned to himself, pausing, then let out a huff, clearing his throat. “Why- why wouldn’t it be?” He looked up at Burr, who had his arms crossed, eyebrows raised, calm eyes wandering Alex’ face.   
  
“Anyway, you know, everyone else just calls me Alex, right?" Alex said, eager to change the subject. Burr threw him a wry smile. "Yes, I'm aware, _Hamilton_ , thank you for the reminder," he snarled pointedly, tightening the crossing of his arms and leaning against the table. He remained silent for a second, then gestured towards Rachel softly.   
  
"Should I wake her?"  
  
Alex blinked and shook his head. "No, we should let her rest, shouldn’t we? I’ll just wait. Thanks, though."

"Okay then. I'll leave you to it.” Burr nodded to himself, then pointed at the sunflowers. “There should be a vase for these in the cupboard." Alex, standing by the window, didn’t really know what to answer, so he just nodded again and watched Burr nod, rub his hands awkwardly and then leave.  
  
The door fell shut behind him, and Alex sighed, letting tension out of his shoulders he didn't know he'd held. He stepped closer to the bed, looked down at Rachel, listened to her slow, steady breathing in the silence of the room until he realized he was holding his own breath, and shook his head to himself, tuned back in to the muffled noises of the street and the whisper of the wind in the curtains.    
He lazily strolled over to the cupboard Burr had referred to and slid it open as quietly as possible. There was a tall, minimalistic vase in it and Alex took it to the tiny bathroom.  
As he filled it with lukewarm water, letting the stream run over his hand to take the temperature, he looked at himself in the mirror again. _A tired mess, still.  
  
_ Alex did his best to avoid that pathetic-looking boy’s eyes in the mirror, splashed his face with cool water and dried it off with paper towels before picking up the vase and returning to the table where he unwrapped the sunflowers and placed them in the vase. He carried it to the bedside steadily, pushed the room phone, Rachel’s books, the glass of water and the box of tissues on the bedside table aside, carefully placing the sunflowers next to her things and straightening again.   
Alex took a step back and eyed the bedside table, the collection of books and get-well-soon-cards on the windowsill, the framed photograph of the two of them with James on the wall above the bed, the switched off IV that wasn’t even connected to Rachel’s body at the moment.   
The hospital room almost looked like a dorm room, but after all, Rachel had lived in it for seven years, so it was only logical that the room looked like it was being lived in. Alex sometimes wondered what the person who had lived in it before Rachel had brought to the hospital; books, or maybe a TV? How long had they stayed? Had they survived? Alex knew it didn’t matter who had lived here before Rachel, but he liked imagining it, liked the way it distracted him.  
He glanced at the small closet by the door to the bathroom, thought of all the clothes, the shirts and jeans and dresses and cardigans they had brought her when she’d been moved from San Juan’s hospital to New York almost immediately after her diagnosis. He wondered if she every actually wore them and tried to think of the last time he’d seen Rachel in her favorite summer dress, the grey one with the daisies. Alex wasn’t even sure if she still owned it, and that thought was so unsettling to him that he pried his eyes off the dresser and turned his back on the bed and the flowers and the photo that made his stomach ache.   
  
Instead, he reached for his backpack and sat down in a chair between bed and window, getting out his book and starting to read where he’d left off.  
  
It took almost one and a half hours for Rachel to wake up.  
  
She cracked her brown eyes open and smiled tiredly when she saw Alex in a chair at the bottom end of the bed. He had redone his bun, his legs were folded beneath him in the chair and the book had wandered from his hands into his lap, his hand now propping his chin up.   
  
"You need to wear your glasses." she broke the silence, her voice breathier than intended – it left her sometimes after having slept. He jumped and threw the book shut when he heard her voice, cracking a grin at her.  
  
"I'm not wearing those. They make me look like an old man. Also-" He left the book in the chair and got up to sit on the edge of the bed instead, tugged at her blanket and passed her the water glass. “- Good morning.” Rachel didn’t take the glass, and also didn’t return his greeting, simply sat up laboriously and gave him a sly grin. "You know what'll make you look like an old man?” Her hand closed around the glass, and she took a small sip before finishing her sentence. “Going blind at the age of thirty," she said, her grin widening when Alex groaned in exasperation.  
  
“We’re not having this discussion again, mom.” He shook his head when she pulled a face.  
  
“They’re cool. They’re cool, and you know it.”   
  
Alex rolled his eyes and refused to say anything to that, and leaned forward, taking the glass from her again when she had emptied it.  
  
“Anyway. How are you feeling?" He tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear and eyed her skinny frame. She looked small, fragile in between the heavy white sheets of the bed, as if her illness sat on her chest heavily, keeping her down. She shrugged.   
  
"Okay, I guess, considering the circumstances." She let out a dry chuckle that somehow turned into a heavy coughing fit. Alex placed his hand on her shoulder to support her, a worry between his eyebrows and his free hand reaching for the call button.   
  
"Should I call someone?” She shook her head quickly.   
  
“Are you sure? You look like you’re about to pass out," he asked apprehensively, and she just arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Still look better than you. What have you been doing to make yourself look like that?" she managed, causing him to glance away sheepishly.   
  
"I… well, I don't really sleep a lot," he admitted after a beat, and she let out a sigh, eyeing him.  
  
"You know you can talk to me if you start having panic attacks at night again, right?"   
  
"I'm not 14 anymore, Mom!" Alex protested, flustered. The truth was, even if he had started start having panic attacks again, he sure as hell wouldn't tell her about it. She obviously had her fair share of own problems to deal with.  
  
"I know, okay? It’s just that- sometimes it just feels like you haven't aged at all." She smiled at him sadly.   
  
Alex looked down at his hands twisting the sheets and listened to cars passing down on the street and remembered the long train rides down from upstate he'd spent by his brother's side, listening to music on a cheap MP3 player from Walmart, from where they lived with a family called Stevens to the city where their mother waited in a hospital room. They had visited her every weekend. It had always been the only thing Alex could think about from Monday to Friday.  
  
"Have you eaten yet?" Rachel's warm voice broke the silence, and Alex blinked, turning his head to face her.  
  
"Not really. I haven't been grocery shopping this week yet, so my breakfast usually consists of a cup of coffee and that book over there." He bumped his foot against the chair and did his best to ignore her look of worry and disapproval that he could see from the corner of his eye.  
  
"You need to take better care of yourself," Rachel murmured. She looked so worried, with her eyes wide and her head tilted to the side, searching for him to look at her. There was a silence in which Alex considered her words, then just nodded slowly, muttering an "I know." Rachel let out a low sigh, then tried to smile again.   
  
"So, if you haven't eaten yet, would you be down for some pancakes? Aaron said they have a new cook in the cafeteria, and if he’s even just slightly better than the last one, then it’s worth getting up for.” She probably had no idea how hungry Alex really was. He couldn't even quite remember his last proper meal; it felt like it'd been fucking weeks ago. It might actually have been, since he tended to just forget his physical health sometimes, and right now, just the thought of pancakes made his mouth water. He nodded eagerly, smiling. “I’m very down.”  
  
"Let's go, then.” She sat up more, wincing slightly, then glanced at him. “Would you mind helping me up?"   
  
Rachel pushed the blanket off of her legs and Alex got up hastily, crossing the room and reaching for her elbow when she put her feet on the floor. She was wearing sweatpants and one of those loose, blue hospital shirts that gave her skin a yellowish, unhealthy tone. Alex got her shoes and cardigan from the hooks by the door and helped her putting both on.  
They took the elevator to the ground floor and walked side by side to the back of the building.  
The cafeteria was a bright square hall with big windows that looked out onto the hospital gardens in which you could already see spring coming into town, with small, not quite blooming blossoms and growing leaves on the dark, old trees.  
  
They ordered a plate of pancakes with blueberries and cream and a mug of coffee for Alex and a croissant and a mug of green tea for Rachel at the counter and picked a table by the window. After a minute, the food was ready, and Alex carried it back to the table where Rachel sat waiting, looking out of the window. The reflection of her face was a bright spot on the glass. Alex sat down opposite of her and she smiled at him, putting her elbows on the table and taking her chin into her hands. She watched him eat for a while, then raised her voice, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.  
  
"You were a bit late today."  
  
Alex startled at that, his hand slipping and pouring a way too large amount of sugar into his coffee. He cursed and looked up at Rachel's smug grin and blushed deeply when he remembered the people he'd met at the shop, one freckled individual in particular, started fidgeting with his spoon. "Yes, I know. Sorry."  
  
She shook her head quickly, her grin deepening. "Don’t apologize. I was just asking myself why. Have you met someone?"  
  
He tried to stay calm as he put the spoon aside and after a second started fidgeting with a paper napkin on the table. He didn't quite know what to say to that. Had he met someone? Well, technically, he had, and technically, that was the reason he was late, but he still didn't know what to say.  
  
"I overslept a little. And I got you a present- left that upstairs. So that’s why. Sorry, not very exciting, I know." Alex laughed sheepishly. Rachel did in fact look a bit disappointed when she leaned back into her chair and ran a hand over her stubbly hair.   
  
"Oh, it’s alright. Anyway, what have you been up to? How's the writing going?" She was clearly looking for entertainment, some cool story about writing in fashionable coffee shops and exploring the city on long, sunny afternoons and dancing in indie discos, meeting people with piercings and cool hair whose vocabulary sounded like they’d swallowed an entire oxford dictionary. Something to take her away from the gray inside of the hospital.  
So Alex made up something about this poetry slam he'd been at with some students from his building, where he and a friend had totally destroyed this guy called Charles Lee and his weird-ass poem about tobacco, which, of course, had never happened.  
He told her about this new story he was working on, something about gay revolutionaries in the civil war in the 18th century and their exchanged letters and how well the research was going. While that idea had actually been on his mind for some time, the research was hell and he got down about three sentences per day.  
He told her about how he was trying to get a job soon so he could afford a better apartment and maybe finally start going to university.  
All those things were lies, but Rachel was smiling – she seemed satisfied. She didn't need to know that her son barely talked to anyone but her, Washington, Burr and himself and that he hadn't even unpacked his books yet. They were piled up in two gigantic cardboard boxes in the corner of his living room, gathering dust, barely touched.  
  
The time passed so quickly, they kept talking, about his writing and the latest hospital gossip, and the food slowly disappeared from their plates until they were empty, and Alex smiled and laughed and felt pathetic, missing something he couldn't even identify.  
  
At 12:40 pm, they paid and Alex walked Rachel back to her room. She leaned on his shoulder in the elevator; she seemed exhausted from their breakfast, her breath coming in small, shallow pants, and he put an arm around her, holding her upright against his side and watching the numbers climb again like earlier.  
When Rachel had taken off her shoes back in the room, and padded back to the bed, a little out of breath, she spotted the sunflowers on the nightstand, and a smile spread across her face.  
  
Alex watched as she held on to the bedframe as she crossed the room to touch the soft, fragile leaves and their yellow heads; as if they were the most precious thing in the world. She looked so fond when she turned around to face him, her hands still lingering on the flowers, shaking, and smiled even wider.  
  
"Thanks, Alex. I love them." she said, quiet and genuine, and Alex swore, for a moment, that old glow was back about her. For a second, just a brief moment, Alex was eleven again, and she was glowing.  
  
"I knew you would." He smiled back at her happily and made a mental note to get her flowers again sometime. They seemed to remind her of older better days. They seemed to be a good way to make her smile more often again. Alex’ legs carried him across the room off their own account, and Rachel opened her arms for him to fall into. They hugged, tightly and warmly, both breathing slowly and happily into each other’s necks, until the door opened, and Rachel loosened her grip on him and took a step back, wiping at her eyes with an embarrassed laugh. She straightened and smiled at Dr. Washington, who had entered the room and was closing the door behind himself. _  
  
_ "Sorry, am I interrupting?" he asked, coming to a halt beside the table, one hand propped against the edge of it. He was holding the file he and Alex had looked at earlier, and Alex realized he was here for Rachel’s appointment.   
He broke his freeze and hurried to pick up his book and backpack, slinging it over his shoulder with an awkward smile at Washington. Rachel sat down on the edge of the bed, hurrying to answer the doctor’s question.   
  
"Just a little bit. But that’s alright, George. Alex was just about to leave, anyway." Rachel smiled up at him once again as he stepped up to the bed, leaned down and hugged her quickly once more.   
  
"I really like them. Thank you so much." She whispered into his shoulder, and he chuckled.   
  
"I know. See you tomorrow," he replied, then turned around and made his way to the door, waving at the two of them as he stepped out into the hallway.   
A minute later, he was on the sidewalk, breathing fresh air and grasping the handle of his backpack tighter. The sun shone into his face, by now high up in the sky, and he blinked. Smiled, squinting.   
It was a nice day. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, the street had grown busy, and the sun was shining, and the air was so clear, and all of it felt so good, all of it was so beautiful, and he felt so undeserving and lacking. Blinked again and wanted to cry for a brief second.  
  
He knew what had made him feel pathetic earlier at brunch; he was lonely.   
  
The realization spread through his stomach, making him ache. He gripped the handle of his backpack tighter and thought of the flower shop and the people he’d talked to there. He thought about what a beautiful world it was the three of them lived in, and if before, he’d played with the thought of going back to spend his afternoon at the shop, writing, talking to them again, maybe unnecessarily staring at John a little, he now shoved that thought out of his mind the best he could.   
Their world seemed so bright, and he felt so twisted and dark and ugly in comparison to it. He couldn’t even imagine the smudge of dirt he’d left in that world when he’d bought flowers earlier, and he was terrified of the thought of somehow having made it less bright just with his presence. Like he’d dimmed the lights, somehow.   
  
Alex hated himself for being indulgent the way he had been, bit his tongue until the pain was almost a distraction and he started making his way back to his apartment, not daring to even look up when he passed the flower shop. He reminded himself how he was just made to be alone after all, and even though he was aching to go back to the flower shop, sit down in the café and just stay there for a while, letting the brightness of that world warm him a little, just to not be at home alone for once, for just one afternoon, he repeated the sentence to himself until he reached his apartment building.   
  
He unlocked the front door shakily and was greeted by cool, musty air, the smell of garbage cans, the hum of the neon lights in the hallway and the perspective of another afternoon spent doing nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor sad Alex. I promise things will get happier and everything. Come cry with me on tumblr.


	2. A matter of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting for things he isn't sure will even happen, John redefines bravery on an application interview to an art academy, while Alex is on the other side of the river, meeting some new people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, I'm back!! I'm sorry this chapter is so long and messy, it took me sooo long to get it down like??? Wow. I'm glad I'm finally done with it. It was beta'd by my amazing Emma (avodoca.tumblr.com, all the credit to her, my sun, my stars). I'm not to be held accountable for any pain this chapter may cause you.

2A  m a t t e r  o f  t i m e  
  
“DID YOU SEE THE WAY HE JUST STARED AT ME for, like two entire minutes? As if I was an alien or something."  
  
Eliza nodded absentmindedly and resisted the urge to swat John with the kitchen towel she was holding.  
It was an especially busy day at Café Adrienne. Almost every table was occupied, the door open to let the fresh spring-air in and the buzz of conversation a constant strain for Eliza’s ears.   
  
When the two of them and Herc had come in for lunchbreak, Maria had stormed up to them, looking exhausted and apologetic, pushing sponge and towel into their hands and begging them for help: “I am ruined, please don’t leave me, I am helpless. Laf and Peggy have been fighting all day and I’m the only person getting shit done around here.”  
  
So now, they were behind the coffee shop's counter, Mariah doing her best to mix drinks and teaching Herc how to work the register at the same time, running around behind them.  
Not really helping the stressful atmosphere, John had been bugging Eliza with questions about Alex for about half an hour now, while scrubbing plates and getting foam everywhere.  
  
Herc muttered something that Eliza couldn't quite make out. She was pretty sure it was something like "Maybe you're just intimidating.", though, because when she glanced at John, he was staring at his wet hands, looking confused, hurt.  
She held back a tiny gasp at how absolutely ruined he looked just because of Herc's stupid comment and scooted closer to him, nudging his shoulder gently. "He's just kidding." she mouthed at him and attempted a smile that turned out a little crooked; she knew that Herc wasn't just joking.  
  
John shrugged. He didn't seem convinced, and Eliza knew she wouldn't be either if she was in his place. She also knew him well enough to know that this had just, in split seconds become one of those things that he never wanted to talk about ever again. So she left him alone. So she didn't see how he wiped at his eyes furtively with the inner side of his wrist, and she didn't see the flecks of foam he got into his hair when he ran his hand through it quickly, and how he scrubbed the next plate a little too hard, the water sloshing over the edge of the sink and onto the counter.  
  
"So. That guy. What did he say? What was his name?" John's voice cut into the silence fiercely. Eliza jumped a little.  
  
"Well, not a lot. And I don't know his name."  
  
She didn't know why she lied, she really didn't. Maybe it was because she knew how easily John got emotionally attached to people he'd most likely never meet again; maybe it was because she wanted to save him the pain of realizing that, to protect him from it. Or it was from that sudden, irrational little pang of jealousy she had felt when she had seen the way Alex had looked at John.   
It was stupid and disgusting and toxic of her to feel this way, but even though she was taken, even though she didn't even swing that way, she still got insecure about the romantic success of others around her.   
  
"Oh, come on. I saw you talking to him. I saw you shaking his hand. You must know something about him." John seemed to have recollected himself, he was grinning at her expectantly.  
  
"Nope." Eliza hated lying to him, hated it so, so much, but it was for his own good. It was better than him getting his hopes up. It was better if he kept daydreaming and fantasizing about Alex rather than finding out actual facts about him. At least that was what Eliza told herself.  
  
"Just tell me his name."  
  
Eliza saw Maria roll her eyes from the corner of her eye.  
She shook her head and put another stack of clean plates on the shelf.  
  
The best thing (or at least the one that stuck to you the longest) about spending time at Laf's coffee shop regularly, was the constant smell of coffee. Like, the permanent, stuck-in-all-your-clothes-and-hair-even-after-washing-it-smell of roasted beans.   
And the tiny grains of sugar she found in her hair and in the sleeves of her sweater every evening.  
  
And how Maria smelled like coffee every time they hugged. And how she tasted like it every time they kissed.  
  
"Lizzy, could you please just tell John that guy's name? He's driving me mad." In walking past her, Maria stood on her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to her neck. Chills went down Eliza's spine.  
  
It amazed her that even after all this time, she was still so in love with the other girl, the whirlwind that had entered her life almost six months ago.   
  
It was a strange, imperfect kind of love. A kind that stood in the shadows of the looks of old people when they held hands in public, and by the fact that every other night, Eliza woke up with the sheets tangled at their feet because Maria was screaming in fear of her own nightmares next to her in their bed, flashbacks from a part of her past life she didn't like talking about hunting her in her sleep.  
  
Eliza tried to be there for her, she did everything she could to grant her wonderful Maria the peace of mind she lacked and deserved.  
  
They shared a crooked, imperfect kind of love, but it was a love Eliza wouldn't give up for anything in the world.  
  
"I can't tell him his name if I don't know it myself, can I?" she muttered, and John threw his sponge into the sink. "But I don't believe you." he snarled suspiciously. She let out a chuckle and pushed his face away as he scooted closer to her. "Get back to your work, you dork."  
  
"Come on!" John picked his sponge up again, sulking at Eliza, and Herc let out a dramatic sigh. "Let her be." he murmured to the ceiling as he put a lid on a cup of something that looked way too sweet to be called coffeeand handed it to a guy with a black emo-haircut and a weird jacket.  
  
"I think it'd be wiser if you and I both stayed out of this." Maria muttered at Herc, throwing Eliza an affectionate smile over her shoulder. "Stay strong" she mouthed and Eliza shot back: "I'm trying"  
  
“Eliza, if you could just tell me his name, please?”  
  
John looked at Eliza pleadingly and passed her a foam-flecked plate. She rolled her eyes and remained silent. “Did he tell you who the flowers were for? Were they for his girlfriend? I bet they were for his girlfriend. Do you think he has a girlfriend?”   
  
That's when Eliza snapped. Letting out a sharp sigh, she threw down the towel and worked her hands through her hair.  
  
“You don’t even know his name, Laurens, why would you care if he has a girlfriend?” Herc couldn't hold back, and Eliza spun on her heel, pointing her finger at him with wide eyes.   
"That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell him for about half an hour, but he won’t listen!” she shouted, and John scoffed behind her.  
  
“Well, you’re the one who refuses to at least tell me his name.” he murmured, pouting. Eliza lifted her hands towards the ceiling and pressed her eyes closed. “Why do you even care so much?! He was just a guy!”  
  
John opened his mouth to respond, but decided not to when Maria shot him a glare. She grabbed a cup of caramel latte with cream that she had been making for a customer and pushed it into Eliza’s hands instead. She put her other hand on Eliza’s arm and leaned her chin on her girlfriend’s shoulder from behind gently.

The other girl opened her eyes again and looked at the cup in her hands, blinking. Then she tilted her head ever so slightly to look at Maria. Herc and John exchanged a dumb glance.  
  
“Darling, why don’t you take a break? Go find Laf, the old asshole. I don’t care if Peggy ate all his precious coconut cake pops and he refuses to come out of the kitchen, we need him here, now.” Maria whispered, and Eliza sighed.   
“But, don’t you need me here, too?”  
  
“Come one.” Maria patted her shoulder gently and smoothed the collar of her t-shirt down a bit in the process, letting her hand rest on Eliza's smooth skin a little longer than necessary.  
  
Eliza sighed again, then squeezed Maria’s hand on her shoulder and snaked past John and the coffee machine to the kitchen door.  
  
“His name is Alexander Hamilton. I don’t know if he has a girlfriend, but the flowers were for his sick mother. Don’t say I never did anything for you.” She murmured before disappearing, and when Maria turned back to John, his eyes were as wide and shiny as the plate he was holding.  
_  
_  
“YOU GOT THIS, LAURENS!” yelled Hercules for what felt like the millionth time. It was 10 in the morning, and John had been pacing around the apartment they shared with Lafayette for hours, trying on different shirts, putting his hair up, wearing it down again, screaming at everything and going through his notes time after time.  
  
Not that they could blame him; John had dreamed about getting into art school for years. He had been drawing his whole life; it was the one thing his father hadn’t been able to take from him after he’d fallen from favor, the one thing that had hadn’t been temporary in his life.  
Herc and Laf knew how important it was to him, and today was the day, the day of John’s interview at the New York Academy of Arts.  
  
He’d sent his portfolio in around Christmas time, and now, three months later, he’d finally gotten a response letter inviting him to an interview. This was a great opportunity, possibly the greatest that had ever presented itself to John.  
  
He was not throwing away his shot.  
  
John stood in front of the mirror on his closet door, eyeing his dark jeans, white t-shirt and denim shirt in the dim morning light of the overcast March day.  
  
"Fuck." he breathed, smoothing his reluctant curls down once more. His hair had gotten way too long again, framing his face and brushing his shoulders, and he looked casual, way too casual...  
With an annoyed sigh he pulled his hair into a bun again and raced out of his room and down the hallway to the kitchen, where Herc stood in front of the oven, fully dressed and making breakfast, and Lafayette sat on the kitchen table, topless and in sweatpants, his hair a frizzy mess surrounding his head. The way Laf looked without a bun reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite make out of whom.  
The Frenchman was holding a cup in his left hand, probably cocoa, he had a thing for that, and his phone in the other.   
  
When John came in, Lafayette looked up and grinned. "Ah, bonjour mon ami, ça va?  
  
" Ça va like shit, Laf. Laaaff." John flopped down on the chair closest to Lafayette's knee and leaned on it with a whine. The Frenchman immediately started petting his hair, and John felt his mood lift slightly as he nuzzled into Laf's absent-minded stroke.  
  
"Naaw. I'm sure you'll do great. Why wouldn't they take you, mon petit lion? You're a... how you say?" he left off in the middle of his sentence and snapped his fingers in Herc's general direction, frowning at the ceiling.  
  
Hercules dropped his spatula and glanced over his shoulder at Lafayette's questioning expression. "I believe the word you're looking for is 'magnificent artist', and that is literally a word the British adapted from the French; how the fuck did you not figure that out?"  
  
Lafayette made a flustered sound, and John let out another whine.  
  
He could practically hear Herc and Laf exchange a glance, before Herc abandoned the sizzling eggs in the pan and crossed the kitchen, sitting down on John's free side and nudging his shoulder.  
  
"Hey, Laurens. Come on. You know they'll love you, everyone does, what are you so afraid of?"  
  
John swallowed the fucking pamphlet of fears he could have spat out right then and there (the one about 'everyone loves you' right at the top) and lifted his head, staring at Herc's warm smile and thinking about Lafayette's hand in his hair for a moment.  
  
"You got this, Laurens." Herc patted his shoulder encouragingly, before shooting back to the stove to yell at his omelet that seemed to be burning.  
  
"He's right, John. You can do this. We believe in you. Hey, by the way, you look great. Stop worrying, and just be yourself, you are a... magnificent artist."  
Laf ruffled his hair one last time before he hopped off the table and left his cup in the kitchen sink, strolling over to Herc and the steaming plate of cupcakes with cherries and cream that already stood on the counter.  
The Frenchman snatched one, Herc let out a yelp when he noticed, and John smiled as they started chasing each other around the kitchen, Herc swatting Laf's shoulder with the spatula and Laf giggling cheekily.  
  
Those two really were like the parents John had never quite had.  
  
  
JOHN GOT OFF THE SUBWAY in a big and busy station in Lower Manhattan.  
  
He bought coffee in a paper cup from a red haired barista that looked like she really despised her job in an aesthetically repulsive coffee shop, glanced at his watch, found that there were about forty minutes left before his interview and acknowledged that his hands were already shaking with anxiety.  
  
As he stood in a quiet corner of the small coffee shop in the station with his elbow propped up on a table that was sticky to the touch, sipping and hiding his unoccupied and shaking left hand in the pocket of his jacket, he tried to keep himself occupied with simple, good, safe thoughts. He arranged flowers in his mind and doodled a turtle on a paper napkin. It turned out way too flat and he titled it "Steamrolled: No. 56".  
  
His toes were cold in his boots; it was the ugliest of the March days so far. The air was wet with obnoxious drizzle that got under every layer of clothing, slipped into each and every one of John's old sketch pads in his backpack and made his hair curl even tighter. By the time he'd arrive at the academy, he would look like a fucking poodle.  
  
John let out an annoyed sigh, a short, sharp sound that made him think of his manager Thomas Jefferson for a second. Jefferson had left the states in the fifth week of John's employment, leaving Eliza in charge as co-owner of Brooklyn Flowers, so he could go to France to do some "serious business", as he liked to call it. Everyone knew he was just meeting lots of different ladies and getting high in French nightclubs, but well, that was just how he rolled.  
  
With the thought of Thomas, that obnoxious, arrogant, loud-mouthed bother and the thought of the beautiful shop that obnoxious, arrogant, loud-mouthed bother had created, John was now, again, met with the thought of the person his mind was occupied with most frequently; Alexander Hamilton.  
  
Alex hadn't been to the shop since Monday; that was five days now, _five days_ , and the worst thing was that John saw him passing every day, sometimes with his hair down or listening to music or wearing an interesting shirt or staring at his feet.   
  
He passed, every day, and every day, John watched him from the shop's window, because how couldn't he?  
  
It was impossible not to watch that man, his movement and eyes and everything so unusually, hypnotizingly determined, yet somehow tired and slow, as if he was constantly deprived of sleep.  
John wanted to catch as much of him as possible, it would be easier to draw him this way.  
  
Which he had.  
A lot.  
  
John was obsessing over the guy; he'd met him once, and Alexander had already consumed his waking days.  
  
It was driving him insane.  
  
So whenever Alex walked past the store, John was at the window, staring, sketching in his mind, and later, hidden from his friends because it embarrassed him, in the back room, behind the counter, in Laf's coffee shop or locked in in his room, drawing him on the paper.  
  
On that note, John remembered the interview. He checked his watch again.  
  
Twenty minutes.  
  
He felt his stomach drop.  
  
He couldn't mess this up. He couldn't, he simply wasn't allowed to. He needed this spot, this was too important, he couldn't mess it up.  
  
His hands had started shaking again. He stared at them as if they weren't part of his body, silently begging them to _stop shaking, please. It's just the caffeine. This is chemical.  
  
_ Flowers, I'm arranging flowers, he told himself, there are turtles and Herc, Laf, Eliza. Maybe even Alex, he is smiling at me from the other side of the street.  
I can do this.  
  
He swallowed hard and grabbed his cup, downing the bitter coffee and throwing the cup in the trash as he walked out of the store, pushed his way through a busy crowd and up a flight of stairs until there was rain in his face and cigarette smoke in his nose.  
  
John put on the hood of his jacket and let himself get dragged along with the flow of people surrounding him on Franklin Street.  
It wasn't a particularly exciting part of town; he'd been here, though, Madison and Jefferson lived around here somewhere. John used to think that art academies could only ever be in alternative areas, the East Village or something, and frankly, this wasn't anything like he'd expected it to be.  
  
He figured the exciting stuff had to be inside the academy then as he rounded a corner and found himself face to face with a street of tall brick buildings that seemed to scratch the heavy clouds in the sky. John felt very small all of a sudden while he kept walking with hunched shoulders.  
  
When he finally reached the academy, an old seven-story building and he could see his reflection in one of the large windows, his jacket was drenched and his hair a mess. This was just awesome.  
  
John threw his reflection an annoyed look that it shot right back at him and then ascended the stairs to the main entrance.  
  
A moment later, the rain was outside and he was dripping all over the wooden floor in a small, warm foyer.  
  
A young woman with dark hair wearing headphones and listening to something loud sat behind a counter, chewing gum and not really paying attention to him as he looked around himself.  
  
There was a group of tables and chairs, and thousands of framed pictures and drawings hung on the cream colored walls, a monstera stood in a big pot, and there were three glass doors leading into long hallways and into a stairwell.  
  
Failing to remember what floor the offices were on, he walked up to the front desk slowly. The girl looked up from the book in her lap as he approached, pulled off her headphones and smiled a rehearsed smile that John knew all too well from his own job. He mirrored her smile and put his hands on the counter.  
"Hey, I'm here for the application interview, could you please tell me what office I have to go to?" he asked, noticing a slight blush at the top of her cheeks.  
  
Okay, yes, it was either warmer in here than he thought, or Herc was right and he was intimidating.  
John really hoped it wasn't the latter. He could see himself fucking up numerous encounters with future significant others because of his scary-and awkwardness. Why was he like this?  
  
During this trail of thoughts, the girl had already typed something into a computer keyboard with coral red painted nails and scanned a huge map of corridors.  
  
"Of course. You just need to like... walk up to the first floor, and then go find a room 132, or a guy called John Jay, or a group of nervous applicants." She grinned sheepishly and he smiled back.  
  
"Thank you very much. I love System of a down, too, by the way." He pointed at the blue headphones that were now dangling off her pale neck and saw her turn a deep shade of red as he walked away.  
  
Intimidating, it was obvious.  
  
Following the girl's directions, he went to the first floor and instantly spotted a group of young adults, all of them looking about his age and most of them terrifyingly calm. John walked down the hallway towards them with weak knees that reminded him of the first time he'd met that cute British exchange student in 9th grade with those big, honest, honest blue eyes.  
  
As he approached the group, some of them lifted their heads to carelessly notice him and then stare back at whatever books, smartphones or tips of shoes deserved their attention more than John.  They sat opposite of an office door in chairs on the hallway, maybe ten, thirteen, sixteen people. John wondered if there were more coming, probably, as he sat down in an unoccupied chair and fished for his phone in his pocket.  
He was right on time; even a bit early, so he decided to bother Lafayette and Herc a bit.  
  
**JLau  
** Yo I'm John Laurens in the place to be   
What are y'all doing?  
**La baguette  
** I'm at the shop yelling at Peggy  
She ate all the cookies again  
That girl has an obsession why didn't I fire her yet  
Maria and her both say good luck.  
**Hercules  
** Tell Schuyler to leave some for me  
I'm at the other shop  
Has the interview started yet  
**JLau  
** Not yet, everybody seems very coolheaded and talented and I'm freaking out a bit  
**JLau**  
Well, not a bit, a lot  
Full on anxiety attack + shaky hands and everything  
**Hercules**  
Fuck, poor you  
You got this. How often do I have to tell you that you kick ass when it comes to drawing and all that artsy stuff that I know nothing about  
**La baguette**  
^^^ same from me  
Angelica says good luck, too  
And I guess Madison, does, too, he came in 10 minutes ago texting and is still texting.  
**Hercules  
** Who is he texting  
Gimme some dirt on this asthmatic mess so we can at last unmask him as taken  
**La baguette**  
Probably Thomas, he is grinning very broadly  
**Hercules  
** Widely  
**La baguette**  
Whatever  
**Jlau  
** If it's TJeff I bet they're sexting. Saw TJeff's phone at the shop once. I will never be the same.  
**La baguette**  
You disgust me.  
**Hercules  
** If Madison gets too annoying or if you start wanting to laugh at him because he is sick again, send him to the flower shop, safe place for any kind of weirdness  
Let the poor guy sext his boyfriend in peace.  
Also, Peggy told me that Angelica told her that both Mads and TJeff are very good in bed.  
**La baguette**  
Eew wtf  
Thomas happens to be a friend of mine, so watch your mouth  
Go, rock your stupid interview Laurens.  
**JLau  
** I'll see you on the other side  
  
John smiled to himself as he stowed his phone back in his pocket and looked out of the window at the end of the hallway.  
The rain had gotten worse; thick drops throbbed against the glass, making the view of Leonard Street blurry. John asked himself if Alex had already passed the flower shop in the rain, and the thought of the other boy in a raincoat made him grin. Had he noticed that John wasn't at the window today? Maybe he had even bought flowers, and John had missed a chance to see him up close.  
  
In this moment, the office door opposite of the group of applicants was opened and a tall, handsome man with designer stubble in jeans, a grey t-shirt and a blazer stepped into the hallway.  
  
"Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen!" He smiled a wide smile as everyone, including John rose to their feet.  
  
"My name is John Jay, I'm head of the drawing faculty here at NYAA, and responsible for the viewing and discussing of your portfolios today. I hope none of you drowned on your way here-" he fell silent for a moment to make room for scattered pieces of sarcastic comments among the group, "-and it's a pleasure to meet all of you. Now." He lifted a pocket calendar to his glasses and looked around. "The first on my list is Miss Riley Janice."  
  
A young woman with chin-long, blonde curls in a green blouse stepped forward hesitatingly, smiling.  
  
"That'd be me, Mr. Jay. It's nice to meet you."  
"You too, you too. Come on in."  
  
He smiled as they shook hands and guided her into his office, closing the door behind them.  
  
John and the other applicants stood a little awkwardly for a second, then began to take their seats again, some sighing, some moping a little at having to wait.  
  
To John, though, the waiting wasn't boring or annoying; it was horrifying.  
To John, the waiting was by far the worst part.  
  
The hallway was cool, and quiet. John asked himself if there were classes today; he hadn't seen a single student yet, no teachers, nobody. It was as if the building was empty except for the blushing girl, Mr. Jay and the applicants.  
  
After about 40 minutes, the door was reopened, the blonde girl from before left and Jay called for a Mr. George Eacker, who stood and walked and the two disappeared in the office. John's hands started shaking again.  
  
He felt sick; watched the rain dripple down the glass of the window and couldn't keep his mind fixed on the good thoughts anymore. His mind, unoccupied and empty, started to slip to worse places, to places where his father's hands hit his body and his cruel, cruel voice drenched John's mind in words. Disgrace. Disappointment. Faggot, Coward, Notmyson.  
  
John swallowed hard and reached for his phone again.  
  
**JLau  
** FUCK  
**Hercules  
** What's wrong, are you okay?  
**JLau  
** It still hasn't started yet and I'm having a slight mental breakdown  
**Hercules  
** Damn, I wish I could be there with you  
You can do this, I believe in you. You have all my hugs and best wishes and everything and now Eliza is calling for me, I have to go.  
**Hercules  
** Seriously, you got this. Relax  
Call me when it's over so we can bathe in your glory together  
**JLau  
** I may not live to see it tho, who'll tell my story?  
**Hercules  
** Me and Laf will tell the story of tonight. Good luck!  
  
In this moment, the office door was opened again, and Mr. Jay stepped outside again.  
  
"Mr. John Laurens?" he said, eyeing the young people in front of him. John felt his stomach drop to his knees as he jumped to his feet.  
"That's me, sir" his throat felt tight, and his voice was high-pitched, thin. This wasn't a good start. He grasped the handle of his backpack tighter and shook the warm, wide hand Mr. Jay was extending.  
  
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Laurens, please, come in." The man smiled politely and held the door open to John.  
In walking, John typed a quick  
  
**JLau  
** It's starting. I'll see you on the other side of the war.   
  
and then shoved his phone into the pocket of his jeans. Mr. Jay was right behind him, closing the door and crossing the room.  
  
It was bright in Mr. Jay's high-walled, square office. The bleach white walls were covered with framed drawings and photographs, Mr. Jay and some wide-shouldered guy, Mr. Jay and a woman in wedding clothes, students, smiling ear-to-ear with awards or certificates in their hands and their arms looped around Mr. Jay's shoulder.  
The desk didn't quite fit into the modern office; it was heavy, dark, reminding John of his father's study in that horrible South Carolina Mansion. The surface was covered in papers and pens, and a stack of about 20 portfolios.   
  
John's head was swimming as Mr. Jay sat down on the opposite side of the impressive desk and crossed his legs, smiling in a way that was probably meant to be encouraging but turned out quite intimidating.  
  
"Please, Mr. Laurens, have a seat. Let's begin."  
  
John smiled insecurely and slid off his backpack. He'd left his jacket out in the hallway, on his chair so that it could dry a bit; now, he just wished to be wearing it, so he could curl up inside of it, hide from that scholar's calm eyes- JOHN COULD SEE THE JUDGEMENT, IT WAS THERE, CLEARLY, AND IT WAS LAUGHING AT HIM- and never come out again.  
  
After John had answered the usual intuition-questions like "Why did you decide to apply to NYAA?", "Do you get along well with authorities?" or "Would you consider yourself good in a group?" with shaky voice and dry throat, Mr. Jay reached for the black folder at the very top of the stack of portfolios, and John recognized his own cursive handwriting on the label. His heartbeat grew impossibly faster.  
  
"So, Mr. Laurens. Let's get to your portfolio. I looked at it - it's very impressive - and I was just asking myself, how long have you been drawing?"  
  
Jay leaned back in his chair and John spotted the folder in his navy-blue lap. It was upside down from his point of view, and opened on a drawing of Lafayette, wearing a white t-shirt and oversized blue overalls and Herc, holding a bucket of white paint and watching Lafayette while he was painting the walls of their living room.  
  
John couldn't help but smile as he was thrown back into that fucking hot summer day last year. The three of them had just moved in together, and Laf had paint in his hair that stuck to it for three more days, and Herc had been bitching about John "just fucking drawing, you're not helping dude". He remembered that lazy afternoon with the open windows and Laf's iPod on shuffle (he'd kept skipping to Eminem songs and translating them into French to rap along) like it was yesterday.  
John realized again how happy he'd been this entire past year, how lucky he'd been that Laf had gotten interested about him drawing at that table in his coffee shop every day. His whole life here in New York only existed because of thousands of lucky coincidences.  
  
"I've practically been drawing my whole life. Art class was always my favorite, even when I went to school in Switzerland. I guess it just followed me home." he said with a sheepish smile. Mr. Jay frowned, apparently jumping to interest. "You went to school in Switzerland? What was that like? Do you speak German, then?"  
  
"War ziemlich nett, sehr viel mehr Schnee als hier. Die Kunstlehrerin hieß Frau Künzel, das fanden wir damals alle wahnsinnig witzig." John coaxed out, and Mr. Jay started laughing.   
  
"That was impressive! Just like your portfolio. The practice shows, you seem to enjoy drawing portraits a lot, any particular reason?"  
  
What kind of question was that? How would John know, he just liked drawing people, he was good at it, he'd never thought about a reason for it!  
  
"I guess I prefer drawing people over actually interacting with them. Um, I also always found the distance between model and paper very interesting, and I think reducing it is our duty as artists."  
You're rambling, he thought, you're rambling and you're not making any sense, stop, John, stop, you're making this so much worse.  
  
Mr. Jay nodded with a sophisticated frown, fondling his chin and acting like he totally understood what John meant, while John didn't even quite understand it himself. Pretentious idiot, John thought, it's people like him that make people hate artists.  
  
The clock on the wall, a big, white designer-thing was ticking loudly in the silence that built up for one, two, five, seven, nine seconds in which Jay just kept eyeing John.  
John's throat felt tight. He could hear his own heartbeat, loud like fired shots in the room.   
He curled his hands around each other under the table to keep them from shaking, but it didn't quite work.  
  
Flower arrangements. Big, brown, restless eyes. This is going to be okay.  
  
Thankfully, Mr. Jay suddenly started rambling about   "understanding the paper, feeling it, being it", and John found that he'd been holding his breath for legit 20 seconds straight.  
  
He listened to the man's words that stood in the room nervously, feverishly attempting to fill the silence and make the moment at least a bit less awkward.  
  
John swallowed and nodded occasionally as he endured the scholar's rant patiently, tapping his foot underneath the table.  
  
"So, some of the drawings in your portfolio date almost two years back, and you know, they're all very good-" He kept saying that. John wanted to punch him. "- but I'd like to get an impression of your more recent artistic progress. I'm guessing you have some kind of sketchbook?"  
  
John blinked at all those words and reached for his backpack while Jay continued his rant with something like "The early twenties of your life are a key period, you see..." John's heart was racing in his chest, up his throat, in his mouth. Choking on his own heartbeat, John dug through his backpack. Headphones, wallet, camera, and there, his black sketchpad, the most recent one, filled halfway mostly with hasty sketches and drawings of flowers, doodled turtles and coffee cups and friends and the coffee shop and the flower shop and Alex.  
  
"I really like your style, by the way..." Jay went on, his voice just white noise within John's head. "Thank you, sir." he mumbled and watched droplets of rainwater drip out of his hair and onto the freckled back of his hand that lingered on his current sketchbook for a second, before grabbing it and an older one without further ado, the one from the summer last year (At the beginning of the book were a lot of sketches of his childhood home in South Carolina, then of a tiny apartment and views of New York's streets and then of a coffee shop, over and over and over again until he met Herc and Laf and Eliza and everybody else and started drawing portraits.)  
  
Like Jay had said, this was about progress. The guy didn't care if his applicant drew the same boy twenty times, or if he kept drawing the same view of a coffee shop.  
He cared about the technique and the style, not the motives.  
  
John handed the older sketchbook across the table and Mr. Jay stopped talking mid-rant to take it.  
He flipped through it slowly, taking in page after page, and John's heart paced up with every single one.  
  
That man was holding his future. This was his one shot at doing what he loved, what he was good at, maybe for a living one day. This was his one shot, he couldn't mess this up, he needed this spot or he'd have to go back to South Carolina, to his father and beg for money, and he didn't want to have to go back there. Not back to Henry Laurens and his voice and his hands and his hate.  
  
He couldn't go back there. He couldn't mess this up.  
  
"These are very good, Mr. Laurens."  
  
Mr. Jay shut his sketchpad and handed it back into John's shaking hands.  
_Please don't ask me to show you more. Please don't make me show you, please.  
  
_ "But do you have your current one with you?"  
  
Mr. Jay's glasses reflected the light from the ceiling. The guy looks like an evil fly, John thought. Rain was running down the window behind Jay's back. John's chest felt tight.  
  
"Yes, I do." he coaxed out, Mr. Jay kept smiling and John shoved the black sketchpad into his wide hands.  
  
_Take it, go on, take it and tell me you don't like  what you see, tell me it's bullshit and that you never want to see me here ever again, come on.  
  
_ The calm, steel grey eyes scanned inch per inch of John's drawings, searching out details, lingering on them, and John was falling, falling, dying as Mr. Jay came to the part of the book where the drawings of Alex started. There was one every four pages, then almost every three as the distance between him and Monday had grown bigger.

  
"May I ask who this is? You draw him a lot. Your brother?" Mr. Jay held up a drawing of Alex with ridiculous, round glasses, eating a sandwich and staring at his phone.  
  
Wednesday, John thought. His head was swimming.  
  
"He's a friend. I just like drawing his hair, that's all." he replied, faking a smile nervously and attempting to catch his breath.  
  
Mr. Jay chuckled. John tried to remind himself that that was technically true, that Alex was, if anything, a friend with nice hair, and that Mr. Jay didn't care, just keep arranging flowers in your mind. Some roses, some sunflowers. Baby's breath. And the next bouquet. A small one. Gerberas. Something blue, cornflowers. Leaves. The next one.  
  
Then, suddenly, Mr. Jay gave him his sketchpad back and scribbled something on a piece of paper on the desk. John watched him with a frown.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Laurens." Jay then said, and John realized that this was it. This was it? He'd only been in here for half an hour or so!  
  
He stuffed the sketchpads back into his backpack and stood, his legs almost giving in.  
  
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jay." he managed, and his brain was screaming. This was about the worst first impression he could possibly have made.

"The pleasure's all mine. We'll contact you." the man said, and John prayed there would be no more handshaking, his palms were all sweaty.  
  
But of course, there was, and John wanted to die.  
  
Somehow he managed to get out of the building, into the rain and back to the subway station.  
  
"We'll contact you", yeah, of course. More like no. They weren't going to take him, not with hundreds of other applicants that were talented and nice and not broken, who could talk to people without dying inside.  
  
When he passed the coffee shop from before, he saw how the red-haired barista wiped the tables with a rag. He saw how she took the turtle he'd left on the napkin, "Steamrolled No. 56" and threw it in the trash.  
  
That's when he started crying. It was like someone had uncorked a bottle and now, in the middle of the subway station, he stood with wet clothes and two inches of water in his boots and trying to hide his face in the hood of his jacket so that nobody would notice his tears and worry. If he thought about it, most New Yorkers wouldn't even be nice enough to ask him if he was okay, or mistake his wet cheeks to be the rain's victim.  
  
On the train, he got the first messages - Hey, you done yet? How'd it go? Come to the shop rn! - and he switched off his phone. He wasn't in the mood to talk to his friends right now. All he wanted to do was get home, change, crawl under the covers of his bed and never talk to anyone ever again.  
  
  
WHEN HE GOT HOME, the apartment seemed deserted. He unlocked the front door and stumbled inside, wiping at his eyes. It was warm in the apartment, as if his friends had only just left for work, or maybe Laf had left it to Maria to protect the cake-pops from Peggy and was back home.  
  
John bolted the front door, kicked his boots off and threw his jacked over the heater in the bathroom to dry before dropping his backpack to the floor in his bedroom and changing into sweatpants and a baggy, green hoodie. The blinds in his room were still down, so it was pleasantly dark in the room. Good, no daylight to bother him.  
  
He flopped down on his bed with a dramatic sigh and shut his eyes, his cheek buried deeply into a pillow.  
  
John lay there in the quiet dark, listening to his own breathing for what felt like an eternity, until, suddenly, the door was opened gently. Light pooled in, John snarled discontentedly and nuzzled deeper into the pillow.  
  
"Ami?"  
  
"Go away." John muttered, but Laf, of course, didn't.  
  
"How'd it go?" More light spread over John's body as Lafayette pushed the door further open.  
  
"What's it look like?"  
  
There was a beat of silence, and Laf shuffled into the room, closing the door behind himself and leaning against it. John held back a groan.  
  
"Would you like to talk about it?"  
  
John shook his head, and, realizing that the Frenchman couldn't have seen it in the pitch-black darkness of his room, added a muffled: "Not really."  
He went quiet and then turned his head. Laf was still at the door, watching him apprehensively.  
  
"Come' here." John managed and stretched out his arm with a small smile, making grabby hands towards Lafayette. He heard him chuckle as he strolled over to the bed and dropped on it. John felt his weight shift the mattress as he crawled up to the other boy and pulled him into his arms, up to his wide chest.  
  
"Ah, ami. I wish you would talk to me." he sighed into John's curls, and John felt his tears well up again at the Frenchman's soft tone.  
  
"Everyone does." He pressed himself closer to his friend's warm body and curled up like a cat, knowing that Laf must feel his shoulder's shake.  
  
"Oh. Oh, no, John, no. Don't cry. I bet it was better than you think. You always think that everything went bad, you little pessimist, you. I bet it wasn't that bad. Come one, mon petit lion." he lifted his hand to comb his long fingers through John's damp curls.  
John shrugged, trying to recollect himself, damn, Laurens, calm down.  
  
"I mean, you're probably right. You always are."  
  
He felt Lafayette laugh more than heard it.  
  
"Oui, John. Who's the best? C'est moi!" The Frenchman pressed his face into John's shoulder and John felt him smile.  
  
"C'est toi." he murmured in agreement, and was so, so glad that he had a friend like Lafayette in his life. Glad that he murmured those stupid little phrases in French when he was happy, and that the smell of coffee and sugary baked goods followed him around everywhere he went, and that they could just spoon and cuddle without it being awkward. Lafayette just knew. He knew that sometimes, everything it took for John to be okay again was a bit of contact and affection and the fewest words, mumbled into his shoulder in a French accent.  
  
"I'm baking. Care to join me when you have the strength to get up again?" Laf grinned next to John's ear, and John, in between tears and sheets and the desire to tear every drawing he's ever made to shreds, found the strength to smile back.  
  
"I'll be with you in a minute."  
  
"Take your time!" Laf pressed a brief kiss to his temple and ruffled his hair one last time before crawling out of his bed and darting out of his room.  
  
Laf left the door open and John looked at the stripes of bright daylight in the hallway. How hadn't he noticed before? The entire apartment smelled of whatever genius cookies Laf was throwing together, chocolate and almond and cream, and his mouth watered.  
  
Not wasting another second, John grabbed his phone out of his deserted jeans on the floor and hurried to the kitchen, where Laf stood at the table, the dark skin of his arms covered in flour up to his elbows and muttering something that sounded like "Get that work, make that work work".  
The Frenchman made John responsible for cleaning the bowls, which basically meant that he ale all the leftover dough and listened to Laf singing with a childish grin from the kitchen counter.  
  
After half an hour, he even had the courage to turn his phone back on.  
Which turned out to be a huge mistake.  
  
JOHN I'M TELLING YOU TO COME TO THE COFFEE SHOP RIGHT NOW - LAURENS WTF COME PLEASE - YOU BIG IDIOT YOU'LL MISS HIM - HE'S FUCKING WAITING FOR YOU - WELL NOT REALLY BUT WE'RE NOT LETTING HIM LEAVE BEFORE YOU'VE MET HIM AGAIN - HE ASKED FOR YOU TWICE ALREADY WHAT A SUBTLE GUY - JAWN OMFG -  
  
It just went on and on, messages from Herc, Eliza, Peggy and Maria, and John grew dizzy.  
  
He lacked the nerve to answer each and every one of the messages properly, so he just texted Herc.  
  
**JLau  
** Who is it  
**Hercules  
** Sunflower boy  
  
John had suspected, of course. But now that he knew for sure, he almost dropped his phones in the sink with a loud shriek.  
"ShIT!" he spat out, and Lafayette jumped, spilling half a cup of chocolate coating over is hands and staring at his friend.  
John was white as a sheet.  
  
"Language, you fuck!" Laf snarled, and John jumped up. "I have to go."  
  
The Frenchman frowned and put his spoon down. "Where?"  
  
John was already digging through the basket of fresh laundry - actual fresh-washed clothes? It must be Herc's turn then - in the living room. "To the shop! Right now!" he replied, pulling out a reluctant red baseball t-shirt that was probably not even his but never mind.  
Laf's eyebrows shot up. "Has sunflower boy returned?" he asked with a knowing smirk.  
  
John frowned at him. "Alex, his name is Alex. And no, Herc just told me to bring them some cookies, the shop is running low. Also, Peggy went to cover your shift at the coffee shop and now no one is helping Herc and Liza with the flower shop, I - never mind, I just have to go." he lied, not even quite knowing why as he ripped off his hoodie and threw on the t-shirt.  
  
"Yeah. Suuuuree." Laf grinned smugly, and John threw a pair of boxer shorts his way.  
  
And his heart was racing. Don't miss him. Don't miss him. Don't miss him.  
  
The sweatpants were exchanged with a pair of grey jeans and his still damp boots. Laf brought him a box filled with cookies when he was in the bathroom, screaming at the hairdryer he was using in an attempt to get his jacket to dry faster.  
  
"You could just borrow my jacket, you know." Laf watched cluelessly as John ruffled his hair with a towel hastily, tripping over himself on the way into the hallway.  
  
"Thank you. I'll give it back later." He slipped past Lafayette and pulled his friend's too-large, dark blue bomber jacket out of the cardboard box they used as storage for jackets, scarfs and hats. Laf leaned on the doorframe of the bathroom door and watched him passively, a mild smile on his face. He knew. Of course he knew, it was Laf, he always knew.  
  
Slipping the jacket on, John hurried back to his room and grabbed his backpack from the floor as it was and threw it over his shoulder.  
  
"Don't forget the cookies, mon ami!" Laf opened the door for him and John threw him a brief smile as he grabbed the box out of the Frenchman's waiting hands.   
  
"Thank you." he whispered, still smiling, Laf rolled his eyes, and then, John was on his way.  
  
  
WHILE JOHN WAS IN LOWER MANHATTAN, on the other side of the river, Alex was in Rachel’s quiet and warm, grey hospital room, reading to her behind rain-sprinkled windows.  
He had already almost drowned on the way to the hospital, and now, with his hair still damp, he was just glad that the rain was outside and he wasn’t.  
  
“’Quit your sword my friend, put on the toga, come to congress. We know each other’s sentiments, our views are the same. We have fought side by side too make America free. Let us now hand in hand struggle to make her happy.’” he read aloud from his notebook, then shut it, so Rachel wouldn’t see that was the only paragraph the document had so far.  
“And after that, the one from the south dies.”  
He stretched the word ‘and’ too much, it sounded almost bright. He’d promised himself not to talk about death so easily ever again, especially not in front of Rachel, but he couldn’t help it. His sarcasm had always gotten the better of him.  
  
When he looked up, her eyes were wide. “Why would you kill one of them? You have the power over what happens in this story, why would you kill him?”  
  
Alex shrugged. “I don’t know. Sadism, probably.” He grinned, and she turned her head to look at the window with a scoff.  
  
The light outside was grey today, and Alex wondered for a second if the sun was dying.  
  
“Jesus. Will that ever stop?” She made an empty gesture towards the view outside. Alex nodded.  
  
“Yes, it will, in August, only to be replaced with pressing heat and the threat of desertification.”  
  
She pulled a face at his cheerful tone. He lifted his hands defensively. “I bet humanity deserves it somehow.”  
  
“Shut up.” She chuckled, and that’s when Alex noticed.  
  
The sunflowers.  
They looked horrible. Their heads hung floorward, their leaves were all scrunched up and brown, dried. They were lost.  
  
The sun had died.  
  
The superstitious part of his mind immediately jumped to the conclusion of a connection between the rain and the dying sunflowers, but was immediately pushed into the pit of indifference when he realized what this meant.  
  
He could go. He could go to the flower shop.  
  
The upcoming visit to the store had become what the weekly trips to New York City had been when he was little. The thing his mind clung onto. The thing he couldn’t get out of his head.  
  
“Alex, where are you right now?”  
  
Rachel’s voice ripped him out of his thoughts violently. He placed the notebook on her blanket and stood slowly.  
  
“Where are you going?” She sat up and watched him dart across the room to where his hoodie was on a coat hanger by the door.  
Alex pointed at the flowers over his shoulder as he it on, not able to hold back a wide smile. His knees were weak with irrational anxiety as he said: “They’re starting to look depressing. I’m getting new ones.”  
She sunk back into her pillow, looking small.  
  
“I’ll be back soon. Thirty minutes, tops.”  
Alex threw on his jacket, too and walked over to kiss her hand.  
  
“I promise.” He smiled even wider and she closed her eyes, letting go of his hand. “Oh, take your time. I’ll get some sleep.”  
  
Alex picked up the flowers and wrapped them in the plastic bag from the bin for the transport downstairs, and, with a look at Rachel, also grabbed his backpack and notebook. She had said ‘take your time’ after all.  
  
On the hallway, he ran into Washington, who asked him where he was going. When Alex answered, the older man smiled.  
  
“You do that. Hey, when you’re back, come to my office with the check. Let me pay.” He patted Alex’ shoulder and Alex frowned first, then nodded.  
  
They parted ways and Alex almost tripped over himself running to the elevator. He just couldn’t wait, he couldn’t wait.  
  
Alex hadn’t been thinking straight these five days. His mind kept slipping to flowers, to Eliza, to John _, to John_ and to the brown eyes peeking over the window frame of the big shop windows every morning and every afternoon.   
  
Only when he was already speedwalking through the foyer with a wide, conspicuous smile on his face, a thought occurred to him. What if the shop closed earlier on Fridays? What if it wasn’t Herc’s, Eliza’s and John’s shift? What if they didn’t want him there for some reason?  
  
Bullshit, bullshit, there was no reason they wouldn’t want him there and the shop wasn’t even big enough for more employees. He shoved the thoughts to the back of his head the best he could and pushed the big glass door open.   
Rain whipped into his face.   
Alex shivered, pulled his jacket tighter around his torso and worried about the laptop in his backpack for a second as he strode down the street, determined, and feeling sick with irrational excitement.  
  
_Calm down,_ he told himself and his racing heart when the shop came in sight. He waited for a gap in the tight-knitted afternoon traffic and crossed the street hastily.  
  
And the next thing he knew, he was pushing open the glass door and a bell jingled, the rain was outside, the familiar smell of soil, water and coffee was in his nose, and he was smiling.  
  
Unlike last time, he wasn’t the only customer. A guy in glasses and a grey sweater sat in the café in front of a notepad and a book, he looked up briefly before returning his attention to his almost continuously buzzing smartphone with a soft smile. A young woman was sipping coffee and typing away on her expensive-looking notebook two tables over.  
  
Now that he was actually here, in the chill of the flower shop, Alex wasn’t even quite sure what he was supposed to do. The counter was deserted like last time, so should he just wait until someone showed up? Or should he walk to the back and get someone?  
  
“Alexander!”  
  
He spun on his heel, surprised, and Eliza was running towards him.  
  
“Hi.” A smile spread over his face as she came to a halt in front of him. “It’s good to see your face. How are you?” she asked, and Alex could see that she meant it. She really was happy to see him.  
  
“It’s good to see you, too, and I’m okay, thanks, just a bit wet.”   
She grinned. “Yeah, I can see that. And I’m sorry, but if you were planning to stay, you can’t. Herc and I were just about to close up for lunch. But hey, want to join us? We’re going to a friend’s coffee shop.”  
  
Alex head was spinning as he nodded. Yes, of course he wanted to, but-  
  
“What about John? Is he not in today?” it slipped from his tongue, and a grin flashed across Eliza’s face.  
  
“No, he’s not. He’s in Manhattan, redefining bravery on an application interview to NYAA, but he’ll want to tell you about that himself when he’s back. Herc!”  
  
Something about that phrasing made Alex’ heart jump a little. _He’ll want to tell you about that himself_ sounded somewhat like Eliza was certain that he and John would meet again.  
  
“I’m sorry, you two, we’re closing, I’m going to have to ask you to come back later.” Eliza said to the two people in the café. The woman looked at her as if she was a stain on a clean piece of clothing and closed her notebook, shoving it into her purse and storming outside in one movement.  
  
“Mads? Are you coming along?” Alex hadn’t seen Herc appear, but now he was beside him, grinning down at him.   
“Hey, Ham. ‘S been a while.”  
  
Alex smiled back at him insecurely, a little intimidated by Herc’s height. The boy (more of a man if Alex thought about it, in spite of his sickly pale face he looked pretty buff) who had been texting lifted his head when Herc raised his voice.  
  
“Only if you make sure Lafayette doesn’t ask me if I’m sleeping with Thomas _ever_ again.”  
The man – Madison? That couldn’t be his first name – stuffed his studying material into his shoulder bag and rose to his feet.  
  
“I’ll take care of Laf, don’t worry, Jemmy.” Herc grinned at him wolfishly, and somehow, Alex knew that Lafayette (whoever that was, it sounded French) would most definitely ask uncomfortable questions about Madison’s sex life later.  
  
“You haven’t even been properly introduced yet. That there is James Madison, and this, formally, is Hercules Mulligan. Now, let’s go!” Eliza had reappeared, slinging a bright scarf around her neck.   
“And this is Alexander Hamilton.” Herc nodded at him with a smile, and Alex asked himself how Herc even knew his name. For a brief second as the other boy turned around to face Eliza. “You got the keys?” he asked, as Madison stepped up to them.  
  
“Who… who is Thomas anyway?” Alex asked him quietly. Madison gave Alex a knowing once-over that made Alex feel very small, and then cracked a grin at him. “Oh, you haven’t met him yet? You haven’t had the chance? Yeah, the fucker’s in France at the moment. You’ll meet him soon enough.”  
  
Alex frowned, and then Eliza grabbed his arm with a smile and she was dragging him out into the rain and said: “Come on, there are some people you have to meet!”  
  
And Alex smiled back at her as the four of them walked down the street together with Eliza and Herc on either side of him and  Madison, who was still texting, a few feet behind them, the street Alex was so used to walking down alone, and Alex thought he was the happiest he’d been in a long time.   
But even though Eliza was enthusiastically telling him about Lafayette’s coffee shop, inspired by his favorite café in Paris, and Herc was laughing at the vigorous pace of Madison’s fingers on the screen of his phone, Alex’ mind kept slipping.  
  
Droplets of rain ran down the back of his neck and his nose, disappearing underneath his collar and his open-mouthed grin, and he was still asking himself why John’s application interview was today, why John wasn’t here, why, why, why wasn’t he here?  
  
Only when a sign came in sight in the hazy spray of the rain, “Café Adrienne” in white, cursive longhand above brightly lit, large windows, Alex became aware of how he was still holding the plastic bag with the rotten sunflowers in it, and Eliza was glancing at it curiously.  
  
“What’s in there?” she asked with a nudge to the bag, while Herc was already pushing open the door and pulling the other three inside into the welcoming warmth and noise of the busy coffee shop.  
  
Alex wrapped the plastic tighter around the flowers with a shrug. “The flowers from Monday. I forgot to throw them away earlier.”  
Eliza looked at him in surprise. “Oh, you don’t need to throw them away. Herc knows this guy at the greenhouse we get our flowers from who turns them into fresh potting soil, so.”  
  
Alex made a sound of confusion and understanding at the same time, at which Eliza let out a chuckle.  
  
“Well, that’s what we do at Brooklyn Flowers, helping dead, sad things to grow and shine in a new way.” She said dryly, but was cut off by a shout from the girl behind the counter.  
  
“You’re sounding like a bad commercial again, Liza!” she said with a smirk from the reddest lips Alex had ever seen as she rolled up the sleeves of her yellow sweatshirt and put a lid on a cup, handing it to a guy in a suit.  
  
Eliza went red and snapped her head around to look to the counter.  
  
“Good to see you, too, Margaret.” she snarled, “Alex, may I introduce you to my wayward sister, Peggy?”  
Herc walked up to the counter and threw Peggy a mischievous grin. “She called you Margaret, ooh, you’re in trouble, _Margaret_.”  
  
“Don’t call me that, _Hercules_. Seriously, rather Margaret than _Hercules_. Hey, by the way, what happened to your obsession with surnames? Aren't you the one who just says 'Schuyler' when referring to us?” she put her hands flat on the counter and narrowed her eyes at Herc, who lifted his hands defensively. “Don’t call me out like that!” he answered, and she let out a scoff, leaning back and crossing her arms in front of her chest.  
  
“Whatever. What are you idiots having?” In that moment, her dark eyes fell on Alex and lingered on him curiously as she let out a slow ‘Hey’. “You’re new. What’s your name, man?”  
  
“I’m Alexander. I was dragged along.” He replied with a grin. While Eliza and Madison – still texting – followed Herc to the counter, Alex looked around himself.  
  
The coffee shop was in a bright, wide room with white walls and a high ceiling. The square tables were made of dark wood and brightly polished with clean white dishware on them, shining in the light of naked bulbs on long wires that hung from the ceiling. There was music playing from speakers Alex couldn’t see, The Beatles, and he smiled to himself. The shop neither looked too fancy nor too scruffy, it was right in the middle and it was _perfect_. He wanted to stay forever.  
The customers were mostly young people, possibly students using the comfortable, concentrated atmosphere of the shop for their studying and businessmen on their lunchbreaks.   
“Hey, Hamilton! Stop staring at tables and come over here!” Herc shouted cheerfully, at which Alex lifted his head.  
  
The sound of his own name said in another person’s voice sounded strange, not like him, not like he was an immigrant with a sick mother, without friends and a job who spent day and night wallowing in his writer’s block in his deserted apartment.  
  
It sounded like having friends and a life and _a home_.  
  
He strolled over to join Madison, Herc and Eliza.  
  
“So, Alexander-I-was-dragged-along, what are you having?” Peggy leaned across the counter with a curious smile when he came to a halt. He saw Eliza roll her eyes from the corner of her eye.   
“She always does that. The first order you make in here determines if she lets you inside ever again. Peggy, leave him alone.” she muttered to Alex, but Peggy just shot her a glare. “Let the man speak for himself!” she snapped, and then looked at him again, cocking an eyebrow. “So?”  
  
Alex glanced at the blackboard on the wall behind her, a menu that showed a list of about fifty sophisticated sounding drinks, got dizzy and simply said: “Coffee. Black.” At which Peggy nodded and turned around to make their drinks with a small, satisfied smile that reminded Alex of Eliza.  
  
“Where’s Laf today?” Herc scanned the shop with his eyes. He surmounted about everyone in the shop, except maybe Madison.  
  
“He went home a while ago, said he’d bake more cookies because we were running out. He also said he wanted to wait for John, so.” Peggy added a one-shouldered shrug as the coffee machine started whirring and Alex’ mind jumped to interest when John’s name was mentioned.  
  
“How long will that interview take anyway?” he asked, trying hard not to sound too interested.  
  
Eliza turned around and looked him in the eye for a brief second before she blinked and said: “We don’t really know. 45 minutes, maybe more. Why, are we that boring?” she added with a smirk and Alex felt himself blushing. Before he could answer, Peggy slid the first two cups across the counter.  
  
“There you go. That one’s for Alex and that one’s for you, Betsey.” Eliza threw her teasingly smiling sister a dark look before grabbing her cup and rushing to a corner table.  
When Alex attempted to pay for the coffee, Peggy just shook her head with a look that said ‘You can’t be serious’. Alex made himself small with a thankful smile as he darted after Eliza.  
  
When he arrived at the table she had picked, she was on her phone, texting. Why was everybody around here always texting? Alex sat down next to her shyly, and she looked up briefly, her finger’s pacing up.  
  
“Gimme a second. I’m just telling John to get his ass down here as soon as he’s finished in Lalaland.”  
  
“I already told him like a thousand times, he didn’t reply.” Herc put his cup down next to Alex’ and sat down with Madison in tow.  
Eliza looked past Alex to the door and Herc’s shrug apprehensively. “He didn’t reply? That’s odd; he’s usually on his phone like 24/7. Has someone called Laf yet?”  
   
“Y’all can save yourself the worrying, you know. I mean, it’s cute, but I’m already here.” Someone suddenly said, and Alex was sure that John could hear his stomach drop from across the coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History nerd fact: John Laurens actually went to school in Geneva in Switzerland in 1771. He studied law there. All these lawyers, eww.
> 
> Translations:  
> "Ah, bonjour mon ami, ça va?"  
> ~ I refuse to actually translate that.  
> "Mon petit lion"  
> ~ My little lion (Which is a nickname people actually used for Hamilton, but like. Fuck that. Everybody deserves to be called cute nicknames and Laurens' family only ever called him Jack or Jacky, God knows why.)  
> "War ziemlich nett, sehr viel mehr Schnee als hier. Die Kunstlehrerin hieß Frau Künzel, das fanden wir damals alle wahnsinnig witzig."  
> ~ "It was pretty nice, much more snow than around here. The art teacher's name was Mrs. Künzel, we all thought that was hilarious." ("Künzel" sounds kind of like "Kunst", the german word for "art" so haha...)
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr! (nordpolkind.tumblr.com)  
> I'll try to keep up a schedule of two weeks or something, but I can't promise anything.


	3. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is helpless, John is tall and flirty and Burr loves his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a fucking Lams-fest and again, unbeta'd. Soz. Hope y'all like it anway.

  
  
**It was a strange feeling** for Alexander Hamilton to sit surrounded by so many people and not feel out of place.  
  
Growing up he had been part of many friendships. It had never been a particularly big or close circle of friends and they tolerated him more than liked him, but at least they let him sit at their table in the cafeteria and left him alone most of the time.  
  
Growing up in foster care, Alex had moved a lot, from Nevis to St. Croix and to Scotland and then back to St. Croix and then to upstate New York at the age of 14. He'd never let himself settle in because he knew that forming deep friendships and letting the places and people around him into his heart would only cause him pain in the end.  
  
These friendships had never quite seemed to fit, like oversized pieces of clothing or small beds in big rooms.  
He'd always lacked someone he could trust, someone who understood his sarcasm and writing, and told him what the books they were reading were about rather than just showing him their cover with an annoyed sigh.  
  
Alex had been out of place his entire life.  
  
It wasn't like this on that Friday afternoon in the Café de Adrienne.   
  
Somehow, Herc and Eliza totally forgot that they had a job in a flower shop and that this was their lunchbreak, one that was supposed to be two hours long, tops. They spent the entire afternoon in Lafayette's coffee shop, talking, laughing and not paying for round after round of coffee.  
  
Alex and the group clicked immediately.  
  
He found himself actually laughing at Herc's dumb 'Your mum'-puns and tried on his beanie - when he was about to return it, Herc told him to keep it with a warm smile, that he had thousands of them anyway and that it suited him. He managed to discuss skepticism, sexuality and theories on the extinction of the dinosaurs with Peggy for forty minutes. He still didn't understand how the fuck they'd gotten from one topic to the other, Peggy just tended to clap her hands when they were finished with one and then shout something like "The election of 1800!!! Let's get back to politics!" while John was in tears over a gif of a turtle eating cornbread.  
  
After the third round of coffee - Alex was pretty sure Maria, the second barista at Adrienne's and also Eliza's girlfriend had put something in there - John did tell Alex about the interview. They had moved seats by then, Madison - and his phone and his stupid, happy grin - at the corner of the table, Peggy next to Eliza and Herc, sitting in John's lap wearing headphones, attempting to rap along one of Lafayette's favorite songs that someone had put on their iPod.   
  
And while John rocked Peggy's small body on his knees, he had his cheek pressed against her back and was facing Alex, ranting about "all those pretty, calm, damp-haired posh kids at NYAA" and "that pretentious, evil fly of a professor" and "that mean girl at the coffee shop who had thrown away his pIECE OF PURE ART". When Alex asked him to specify, he grabbed a napkin, doodled something that was probably supposed to be a very flat turtle, scribbled "Steamrolled: No. 57" and something that Alex couldn't quite make out from where he was sitting underneath and, before he knew what was happening, John leaned down to push the napkin onto the pocket of Alex' hoodie. He shivered at the touch even through the two layers of fabric he was wearing. John continued to talk about the interview, and about the drawings the evil fly-professor had looked at in a quiet voice. A dumb, hopeless romantic part of Alex whispered that John wanted only him to hear those things (which was absurd I mean come on.)  
  
And John's voice was soft. Soft and deep and southern, and he was so close to Alex that he could literally count the freckles on his forehead and feel his warm breath on his skin whenever John laughed at one of Herc's lame jokes or Peggy's tongue-twisters.  
  
And Alex loved watching John talk.   
He probably looked very weird, staring at the other boy and _damn that mouth_ with adoration and his chin in his hands, a soft smile always lingering on his lips.  
  
But fuck it, he didn't care what anybody in the shop or at the table thought, the only thing he really cared about was that John just kept talking, now about how overestimated Van Gogh was, "no offense to Lafayette, his heart beats for Van Gogh, French people, pff", and that he just _really_ liked turtles, was that really so weird? and about how many coincidences his life consisted of.  
  
The things he talked about seemed to just come to his mind one after another, there were no awkward silences with him, it just didn't seem to stop anywhere. Not that Alex wanted it to, _god_ no. He wanted to keep listening and looking at John forever.  
He wanted to die hearing John talk.  
  
It was uncommon for Alex to be a good listener, but with John, he just didn't want to interrupt. He wasn't even sure if he could, even if he wanted to, because just the sight of him, his curly hair still a bit damp and his freckles _, his freckles, oh gosh Alex was obsessed with them,_ had Alex mind spread apart and broken up into floaty, content, light bits and his heart turned into a fluttering bird inside his chest.  
  
"You're not much of a talker, are you?" John joked at some point, and that's when Alex decided to get his shit together and say something. From that moment on, their conversation was a dream, a dance, and everything they said was in total agreement. Alex wished it would never stop.   
Talking to each other was as easy as pushing buttons. It was like they'd been talking to each other for years and years.  
  
After what felt like an eternity, John's voice was cut off by Eliza.  
"Hey, you two, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we're about to order another round, what are you having?" she asked, and then, John was leaning back into his seat again, away from Alex and he wanted to reach out, grab him and say "No, not yet, I want to talk to you for a little longer, about my mom and my brother, my foster families and my writing and I want to tell you all about my scholarship and how I'm not sure If I want to take it and I want to tell you how beautiful your freckles are, and your eyes, and everything about you, I could tell you so many things, you don't want to miss that, do you?"  
  
But instead he just gaped at John for another moment before his swimming head could finally get a clear thought.  
  
_9am to 1pm.  
  
_ The visiting hours were from nine to one, and when he glanced at his watch, it was _fucking 5pm_ , and it was already getting dark outside.  
  
"I'm not having anything. I have to go, sorry." he muttered, and there was collective verbal resistance from the group. "Aw, come on, Ham, we were having such a nice chat!", "Where? Do you have to go?", "You know, at some point you might have to start paying for the coffee you're drinking, but if you pay, you can stay.", "Come on! I've been looking for a mind at work for quite a while, stay and we can rant about Trump and his fuckhead policies a bit, how's that sound?", but Alex got up and grabbed his jacket and backpack and the plastic bag with the flowers from the floor.  
John followed him with his calm eyes as he slid his jacket on and then started patting Peggy's back, silently asking her to get off his lap. She hopped off with a discontented snort and rushed off to the counter, where Maria made her responsible for everything that had went wrong with the coffee shop's numbers today.  
  
John then stood up, too, and Alex stared at him as he put on the wonderful blue jacket, avoiding Alex with his eyes and instead looking at the table.  
  
John, where... where are you going?" Eliza eyed the two of them curiously with a soft, conspicuous grin on her lips.  
  
"Alex, didn't you come to the shop for a bouquet? Well, I gotta get something from the back room, anyway, so, why not just come along and make it for you? I'm the best florist in that place anyway." he replied with a wide smile towards Alex that actually kind of made his heart melt while Eliza and Herc started protesting.  
  
“You and your stupid tulips aren’t half as good as the stuff I can make of roses and a bit of baby’s breath!” “Excuse me! Have you seen that piece of art I made for that guy with the British accent and the furry jacket yesterday?” The two jumped to their feet when John just laughed and nudged Alex’ shoulder, herding him towards the door.  
  
“Come on, Alex. Let’s just leave before someone gets hurt.” He shouted cheerfully, and Alex heard some faint “See you tomorrow, Alex!”s that made him feel all warm and fuzzy before John was suddenly grabbing his sleeve and pulling him outside. Alex couldn’t hold back a whine when they were already hit by thick raindrops just outside the door.  
  
“Dammit, how can it still be raining?” John made a face like he was about to vomit and Alex chuckled when he pulled his jacket over his head and started walking.  
  
The freckled boy was practically running down the sidewalk and since he was at least seven inches taller than Alex with his long legs and relentless pace, Alex had to walk twice as fast as John.  
  
“Hey, slow down, I can’t keep up!” he shouted, and John looked back at him, smiling mischievously in the last light of the day, his ponytail dancing in the wind and the headlights of the passing cars in the rush hour traffic  embracing him like a halo and _fuck_.  
  
Alex was helpless.  
  
“Come on, Hamilton. You and I, do or die!” he answered, reached out to give Alex hand a tug, his cool, rain-wet hand squeezing Alex’ for a second, the briefest moment and the started running through the rain.  
  
And Alex couldn’t do anything but stumble along with his hand and arm tingling, fucking covered in goose-bumps and his heart going mad inside his chest.  
  
In running, Alex’ eyes fell to John’s hand, the one he’d touched just seconds ago, and he was itching to take it, hold it and not let go, just to find out what it’d feel like , just because he was curious, just _for science_.  
  
John was squealing like a little by, and Alex couldn’t let go of that impulse and the confusion he felt about the fact that he really, _really_ just wanted to hold John Lauren’s hand right here, in the rain on this street in New York, for anybody to see.  
So that everybody could see how much he liked this guy, what a wonderful person this John Laurens was.  
  
He could have done it. All he had to do was reach out.  
But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.  
  
Alex didn’t take John’s hand, and the moment was gone when the flower shop came in sight and John slowed down in front of him, starting to scramble in his pockets for something, possibly keys.  
  
“So, why the sudden change of your mind? One second you’re like ‘let’s have another round tonight my friends’, homely and as at peace as can be while discussing how the US really need a new fucking financial system, election and education reforms and just a whole new form of government while we’re at it, and the next second you have to leave. Why? You got a girl waiting for you? A guy?”  
  
Alex was caught off guard by John’s voice, cutting through the sound of rain and traffic. The other boy’s wide smirk made Alex blush and he was glad that is was already getting dark so John couldn’t see it. He slid his hands into the pocket of his hoodie – his fingers, _still warm and tingling, for fuck’s sake Hamilton_ , brushed against the napkin with John’s doodle on it and he felt a wave of relief rush him when he found that it was dry and safe.  
  
John seemed to have found the keys, jumped up the two steps to the dark glass door of the flower shop and unlocked it.  
  
_You got a girl waiting for you? A guy?  
  
_ Alex smiled sadly as he thought about John’s words. In a way, he did have a girl waiting for him. In a way.  
  
“Well. Yes, I do have a girl waiting. Just not the way you’d expect.” He replied, shuffling past John into the cool, dark shop.  
  
He didn’t look at him while saying this.  
  
“So… a girl. Right. And in what way exactly do I expect you to have her waiting, Ham?” John was walking to the counter and getting on his knees – Alex’ stomach dropped at that and he felt like a fucking twelve-year-old – and he reached into the shadows beneath it.  
  
Alex watched him cluelessly as he got up and lingered at the counter for another moment, pulling the elastic out of his hair and slipping it over his wrist.  
  
John’s damp hair was now framing his face, and Alex swallowed as his eyes started burning. No. No, he wasn’t going to blink now, not when everything John did seemed slow, syrupy, thought through. Alex didn’t want to miss a single millisecond of this.  
  
The way John’s fingertips brushed over the countertop as he took a few steps towards Alex so that there was only an arm’s length between them, sharing his air and inhaling what he exhaled and the way he now reached up as if to reach out and touch him again, because _damn,_ he wouldn’t wind, not at all. He wanted to be touched. Wanted to feel John’s skin against his again, he wanted to remember that warmth, that tingling. He wanted to feel it again, because even now, he was pretty sure he’d never get enough of it.  
  
But John didn’t touch him in the darkness and quiet of the flower shop. He reached up to tie his hair back again, and Alex wasn’t sure if that wasn’t even better.  
  
He didn’t take his eyes from him, missed a few curls and they fell down into his eyes.   
Alex wanted so badly to tuck them behind his ear.  
  
He felt himself swallow as he slowly but surely lost himself in the semi-dark sight of John’s face, his skin and his freckles and his eyes and his lips, his _lips-  
  
_ And suddenly, the lights jumped on and white stars were dancing behind Alex’ eyelids.  
  
Alex let out a rasp groan and pressed the heels of his hands to his closed eyes. He heard John cackling.  
  
“ _That’s_ what you did on your knees there, turning on the light, dammit, I was wondering!” Alex heard himself shout, and John laughed harder as he let his hands fall to his sides, his eyes still bleary and watery.  
  
“Oh, Hamilham, I do all sorts of fun things on my knees.” John said with the widest, most horrifically beautiful shitface-grin Alex had ever seen. He felt himself flush a dark shade of red, his brain screeching, and John was turning around to the counter.  
  
“And preferences?” he asked, not facing Alex.  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“The bouquet, any flower-preferences? Jesus, Alex.”  
  
Alex lifted and dropped his hands in an empty gesture, realizing how he had absolutely nothing to say.  
  
What was wrong with him? Why didn’t he have some witty comeback, or at least something flirty, or funny on his usually so sharp tongue? Maybe it was because just the fact that he was alone with this charismatic, funny, pretty boy made his tongue numb and his brain fuzzy, so that the only thing he could come up with was John’s name and dumb one-liners.  
  
What was it about this boy that he could turn Alex into a blushing, stammering mess with just the bat of an eyelash or the briefest start of a smile?  
  
“Well. Um. No. Not really, just… surprise me, I guess.” He got out, stuttering and looking at his feet. _Fuck. Fuck, Hamilton, get your fucking shit together.  
  
_ “I’ll see what I can do.” John looked up at him briefly before he was peeling out of his jacket again. His red T-Shirt was drenched, and Alex could see soft curves underneath it, the hesitant outline of hipbones just above the waistband of his jeans and something that might have been abs. Fucking _abs_. What the fuck.  
  
After a heartbeat and his mouth watering, Alex laboriously ripped his gaze off the other boy and tried not to think about his wet t-shirt too much. It didn’t do him any good whatsoever, it just made that itch underneath his skin grow worse.   
No, it really didn’t do him any good.  
Not at all.  
  
While Alex was still silently begging God for a distraction, John started walking around the shop, picking up flowers out of buckets and vases in shelves as he went. Alex looked at the floor.  
  
“Relax.” John chuckled quietly in the corner by the tulips, and Alex shot him a glare.  
  
“Relax? [Qué relaxed? I’m relaxed](https://genius.com/Lin-manuel-miranda-the-club-lyrics#note-10903533).” He bit, and John did his best to hide his wide grin behind the flowers he was holding.  
  
After about five minutes of John shuffling around the shop, he returned to the counter and dropped a pile of tulips, cornflowers and thing green leaves on the table. Alex watched as he started arranging them.  
  
To his surprise, it was entirely different from what he’d seen with Eliza the other day. Her hands were quick and skilled; John’s hands seemed kinder, less energetic, which made Alex frown.  
He’d have expected it to be the other way around. But here he was, and he found himself gazing at John’s careful, soothing, quick hands. They were full of freckles, too, and really, Alex couldn’t imagine that any part of John’s skin wasn’t freckled.  
  
The street’s sounds were muffled now; the rain fell silently, and the only thing Alex could hear was their breathing, quiet and steady in the silence of the flower shop and the furtive rustle of John’s flower arrangement. Alex knew it was going to be beautiful; maybe John was right and he was a better florist than the other two, or maybe it was just Alex, romanticizing and dwelling in this moment of being alone with this fascinating, beautiful – there was simply no other word to describe him – boy.  
  
“Hey, Ham, are you going to answer my question or not? If not in the way I expect you to, then who’s the girl of yours? Who am I making this bouquet for?” John suddenly said.  
  
Alex almost jumped. He had gotten so lost in the sound of this perfect, comfortable silence that he had presumed it wasn’t actually possible to disturb it.  
  
“The ‘girl’ is my mother. She’s in the hospital.” He muttered, finding himself a little annoyed that his mother’s illness was now even entering this moment with John, too.  
  
John lifted his eyebrows without looking up from the flowers. Alex believed to see his hands stall in their movement for a beat. As if he was hesitating, as if he wanted to do something else with them right now.  
  
Like reach out. ( _Shut up, Hamilton_.)     
  
But of course, he didn’t. Instead he kept arranging the flowers.  
  
“What does she have?” he asked quietly, and Alex swallowed the lump in his throat. He watched a drop of rainwater run out of John’s curls and down his temple.  
  
John lifted his left hand to wipe it off when it reached his jaw, and that’s when Alex managed to answer.  
  
“She has Leukemia. She got it for the first time when I was twelve. We still lived in St. Croix back then.”  
  
They fell silent again, and Alex waited for the usual ‘I’m sorry to hear that’, but it didn’t come. After a minute - and Alex was pretty sure that John was done with the bouquet by then and just sort of pushing it around on the table - John finally said something.  
  
“My Mom died of lung cancer when I was, like, three years old. Well, my real Mom.  My father’s Dominican cleaning lady. They weren’t even married, and she quit her job when she was two months pregnant with me. I’m pretty sure my father, that fucking asshole, had already forgotten her name the day they brought me to his doorstep, saying my Mother was dead so I should be with my Father instead. I don’t even quite remember her, but. I mean.”  
  
John shut his mouth and looked at his hands.  
  
“I was actually going to say that I know what you’re going through, but like I said, I barely remember anything about her. So. I don’t really know what you’re going through.” He added, and then, still not looking at Alex, he grabbed the flowers, tied them together and put them in a water bucket next to the counter.  
  
“Would you like another cup of coffee? Tea? You are staying, right? Because I wanted to ask you something. You could wait out the rain here, if you wanted to. I mean… Oh, no, I forgot. You gotta leave and shit. Too bad.”  
  
Alex hated the way he kept replying to his own questions. Why not just stay? The visiting hours were over anyway. What did it matter anymore?  
  
“Actually, could I have a cup of black tea? I can’t go to the hospital anymore, anyway, so I might as well stay here, right?” he said, and finally, _finally_ John looked at him. His eyes were wide and shiny as his lips spread into a small smile.  
  
“So, tea. I’ll see what I can do.”  
  
He disappeared between the plants in the Cafe and after a beat of silence and Alex wondering if he should follow John or not, the coffee machine started whirring and John returned with two big, white, steaming cups.  
  
“Voila, one black tea for Hammy-Ham the garbage man!” John said with a kind of weak grin as he handed him one of the cups – it was hot in Alex’ hands – and sat down on top of the wide table.  
  
Alex pulled a face. “Stop it with the nicknames.” He moaned, sitting down next to John insecurely. He blew on his tea while John, grinning widely, started coming up with more annoying nicknames – Monsieur Hamilton, Hammy, Hamilham and Alexhamder being just a few of them.  
  
“Oh, I forgot all about A-Dot-Ham. That’s a particularly obnoxious one at th-“  
  
Alex cut him off in the middle of his sentence. “Dude, cut me some slack. What is it you wanted to ask me?”  
  
John fell silent. The whole shop now smelled of his Jasmine tea, and Alex felt himself grow a little sleepy. It had been a long day, such a long day in comparison to his usual days.  
  
“Okay. So, I don’t know if this is like, wildly inappropriate or something, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s absolutely fine. You gotta tell me if you don’t want to talk about it, okay?” He looked at Alex questioningly, and he nodded impatiently.  
  
John waited for another moment, then he stared into his mug, as if it held all the secrets of talking to people.  
  
“Can you tell me what it’s like? Having… a parent you actually like and get along with, and know, and all that jazz, and then…” He was still staring into his mug and went quiet, but Alex knew what he wanted to say.  
  
_And then losing them. Watching them die and not being able to do anything about it._  
  
“You mean what losing her feels like?” he asked hesitatingly, but John shook his head quickly. “No. No, that’s not what I’m saying. I mean… what does it feel like to have proper parents?” His voice grew thinner by the minute, but Alex pretended not to notice and let out a bitter chuckle.  
  
“I wouldn’t know. I was in foster care practically my entire life and my father left when I was ten.” He said with an almost sheepish smile. John looked at him with wide eyes for a second before laughing dryly.  
  
“Well, look at the two of us. A sick-mothered kid without a father and a semi-orphaned abuse victim drinking tea in a flower shop, God _bless_ America, aren’t we a pair.”  
  
Alex tried not to choke on his tea at the word ‘pair’ as he gaped at him. “You… you were abused?” He didn’t mean to whisper it, but for some reason, he did.  
  
John shrugged. “Well. Yeah. My father used to hit me and stuff like that, I… I don’t know why. Probably because I was that one little Latino bastard disappointment, that stain of dirt on his white-straight-successful-republican-politician-smile-for-the-camera-image, I don’t know. He’s a fucking asshole. I’m so, _so_ glad I don’t live down there in South Carolina anymore. Everything’s shit down there, I’m telling you. _Fuck_.” John took a sip of his tea Alex watched him apprehensively. He found it very impressive and also a bit discomforting how easily John could talk about this stuff.  
  
They were quiet for a while, both sipping tea and eyeing the shop, the street, sometimes when they weren’t looking each other. Alex noticed that even this wasn’t hard or uncomfortable. With John, quiet was just as pleasant as conversation. With John, the hurricane that Alex was was easily turned into a calm spring breeze.   
  
“I still get flashbacks sometimes. Mostly of the things he called me.” John murmured suddenly.  
  
Alex didn’t dare to look at him. He had seen his expression when saying this from the corner of his eye, empty and mild, but sad, so, so sad, and Alex was terrified that if he looked at John now, all of this would shatter and the moment would be lost and gone.  
  
“What a fucking dickhead.” Alex gripped the cup tighter, his knuckles going white as he forced the tears at the top of his throat down. “If he ever attempts to contact you again, just give me a call, and I’ll come flying to South Carolina and kick his republican ass for you.”   
  
John sniffled and chuckled dryly. “My hero. No, if he every attempts to contact me again, we’ll fly to South Carolina together and kick his racist, _disgusting_ republican ass together, Ham, sign me up for that shit. You and I, do or die, remember?”  
  
The grinned at each other and Alex heart almost jumped out of his chest.  
  
Cars passed out on the street and rain whipped against the shop windows as they sort of just stared at each other for a moment, until John was the first to break away.  
  
“I… I should get going, the others will worry.” He said, his voice a little hoarse, and Alex blinked.  
  
“Right.” He downed his tea with a glance at his watch – they’d been in here for almost forty minutes – as John hopped off the counter.  
  
He looked at the bouquet, then at Alex and seemed to think about something for a moment, then asked: “You wanna leave this here? I don’t think the rain will do it any good, and you can just come get it tomorrow.”  
  
Alex felt a wave of relief rush him as he nodded, smiling. That meant John wanted to meet him again. That meant they _would_ meet again. His heart jumped a little.  
  
John grinned at him widely.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” he said, and Alex reluctantly slid off the counter, grabbing his backpack and leaving his cup.  
  
He didn’t want to leave. Not at all. Leaving meant he’d have to go home and be by himself. He hated the thought of his own company now that he knew how homely and wonderful the alternative was.  
  
“Yeah, right. See you then!” Alex pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over Herc’s beanie that he was still wearing and probably wouldn’t ever take off and looked at John with a smile one last time, walking backwards towards the door.  
  
“Hey, Alex.”  
  
He stopped walking when John put their cups he’d picked up back down on the counter. He waited, eyeing the freckled boy as he was fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt, seemingly searching for words.  
  
“I… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about your Mom. And that I- well, that I had a really great time today.” John stammered, blushing – Alex hadn’t even thought that was possible, but now that he knew it was, he thought it was the cutest thing ever – and Alex smiled a small smile back at him.  
  
“Thank you.” He said, and then he turned around and opened the door.  
  
  
**“Hello?”**  
  
As soon as Burr answered the phone, Alex started rambling.  
  
“Burr, finally! I’ve been trying to reach you for hours! I’m feeling really bad for not having showed up at the hospital again today, I went to get new flowers for Rachel, and then, I don’t know how, but I got delayed, anyway, are you still at work?”  
  
He could practically hear Burr narrowing his eyes. “That depends, who’s asking?” he snarled. Alex rolled his eyes.  
  
“It’s Alexander!” he snapped, almost falling off the table. He had come back to the apartment twenty minutes ago and called his mother’s nurse the second he was through the door.  He hadn’t even changed, rainwater was dripping out of his hair and on the table.   
  
“How did you get my phone number?”   
  
“Do you really want to know?”   
  
“…Probably not. What do you want?”  
  
Alex slung his arms around his torso. “I need a favor.” He mumbled. He hated this. He hated asking for help, and he knew Burr was going to be a bitch about this tomorrow. It hadn’t been a good idea to call Burr, why didn’t he have Washington’s number after all these years?  
  
“You? You need a favor? From me, of all people?”  
  
He heard Burr laugh. It was such a strange sound, one he’d never heard before.   
He’d always perceived Burr as a thoughtful but serious and sort of grumpy person who didn’t talk about his feelings and opinions a lot. He always seemed to be a little down but trying to hide it and keep everything he thought to himself. He was the exact opposite of Alex, and his calmness and maturity always kind of scared Alex.  
  
The nurse had been appointed to Rachel for about one year now. Alex would never admit it over his own body, but despite the constant teasing and bitchy comments they laid on each other every day, Alex was pretty sure that Burr had grown one of the most important people in his life just by being one of the few people he actually interacted and talked to. He’d always considered him a friend over these lonely, lonely first months in New York.  
  
“That favor you need, is it legal?”  
  
Ripped out of his thoughts, Alex let out a deep sigh, pinching the back of his nose. “Burr, please. Don’t be a bitch about this.”  
  
“Okay, okay, don’t start crying. But seriously, what do you need?”  
  
Alex ran a hand through his hair. “Are you still at work?”  
  
“I was just about to leave. I’m in the elevator.”  
  
“… Could you go up again?”  
  
There was a scoff on the other side. “Well, I could, but why should I?”  
  
“I need to talk to my mother.” He pressed his slightly shaky hand to his temple and closed his eyes, mouthing prayers towards the ceiling.  
  
“It’s been a long day.” Burr groaned, and Alex believed to hear him lean on the wall of the elevator.  
  
“I need to make sure she’s oaky.”  
  
Burr let out a deep sigh. “Come _on_ , Hamilton. She’s in a hospital, why wouldn’t she be okay? _Please_ don’t do this to me, I have a wife and a daughter waiting for me at home, _leave me alone_. Why didn’t you just call her room number? Oh, right. You don’t have it yet because they wouldn’t trust you with it. What a shame.”  
  
Alex felt his temper rising in his stomach as he clenched a fist. _Calm down, Hamilton, don’t freak out right now._ He took a deep breath to keep calm. _  
_  
“Please, Burr. I need to set this right with her. I won’t sleep tonight if I don’t.”  
  
“Alex. Just. Talk to her tomorrow or something. Bring Flowers and read to her or something, she’ll be fine. Besides, she’s been asleep all afternoon anyway. Is it that big of an issue?”  
  
“Yes, and it’s important to me.”  
  
Burr was silent for a moment, then Alex heard him sigh again. “Fine.”   
  
“Fine?” Alex smiled hopefully.  
  
“Yes, I’m going up again. Just wait for a moment.”  
  
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”  
  
“I just hope my girls don’t wait up with dinner.” Burr snarled, and Alex picked up his ears.  
  
“You have a wife and daughter? You never mentioned that.”  
  
He knew Burr was rolling his eyes right now. “Well, you never asked, what do you care?”  
  
Alex scoffed, exaggerating it so he sounded extra offended. “I don’t actually, I was just trying to be nice.”  
  
Burr hummed “Yeah, doesn’t suit you, I’d stick with indifference.   Okay, I’m at the station now, wait for it…”  
  
The elevator’s doors slid open and Alex heard footsteps, people talking quietly, squeaky tennis shoes on linoleum. A door opened.  
  
“Aaron? What is it?”  
  
“I’m sorry to disturb. Your son is on the phone. Says he needs to talk to you.” Burr’s voice always got soft and velvety when he was talking to patients, Alex had noticed it before. He cared so much, it was so sweet.  
  
“Really? Well, hand him over here.”  
  
There was a rustle, and then Alex heard Rachel’s voice, soft, a little sleepy.  
  
“Alex, what’s the matter, sweetie? Are you in trouble?”  
  
Alex heard himself laugh breathily as he dropped tension out of his shoulders he didn’t know he’d held. It was so good to hear her voice.   
“Hey, Mom. No, I’m fine. I just… I needed to apologize for not showing up again today. I got so distracted and I just… It was such a mess, I am so sorry. I swear it won’t ever happen again.”  
  
“Alex-”  
  
“I know what I did was horrible, I promised to come back. 30 minutes, that’s what I said, right, but I don’t know.  It just happened, all of it. I met some nice people, on Monday, actually, and I got carried away today, and I’m sorry. Dammit, I fucked up, didn’t I? I messed up like I always do, I always try to do the right thing but I always seem to make everything worse, whatever I do. I’m such a mess, sor-”  
  
“Alex, will you shut up?”  
  
He drew in a shaky breath. There was a scoff on the other side.  
  
“It’s not that big of a deal. I mean, I was expecting you to come back, but when you didn’t, I realized that until today, you actually always managed to spend four hours a day in this stupid hospital room with me. Every day, for two months. That’s more than enough and I shouldn’t ask you for any more.”  
  
He heard himself sniffle at his mother’s soothing tone. As if she was talking to a hurt animal, or a child, a crying child, lost on the sidewalk.  
  
“But I wasn’t there when you woke up. I should’ve been, right?” he murmured. Rachel sighed.  
  
“Alex, listen. I’m absolutely okay without you for a few hours, Aaron and I actually had quite a pleasant talk about leagl studies this afternoon.”  
  
He heard Burr chuckle in the background. Rachel shushed him.  
  
“You know, you don’t even have to visit every day if it bothers you. Just… check in every now and then, tell me about the gay revolutionaries, yes? And about the nice people you met, okay? Your friends that you spend your days with. You can even bring them here with you if you want to. Alex. Do you hear me?”  
  
“So it’s okay?”  
  
“It’s all okay, sweetie. I love you. Now go to sleep, and I hope I’ll see you tomorrow, or on Sunday, that’s fine, too. Tell your friends I said Hi.”  
  
Alex smiled to himself. ‘Tell your friends I said Hi’ was a sentence he hadn’t heard in quite a while.  
  
“I love you, too.” Alex said hastily, anxious that the phone was already back in Burr’s hand and that she hadn’t heard it.  
  
“I know you do.” Burr said dryly and then Alex heard a muffled “Goodnight, Rachel. See you tomorrow.”, a door was opened and closed and Burr’s voice was back.  
  
“Did that help, then?” he asked, and Alex let out a sigh.  
  
“A bit.” He fell silent, staring at his damp jeans. “Thank you.” He added reluctantly.  
  
“Next time, just call the room’s phone so that I don’t have to wait around for you two being done having your moment. I’ll text you the number.”  
  
“Thank you.” Alex said again, and he meant it; he felt like a heavy weight was off his chest now, and it really had been nice of Burr to go upstairs for him again.  
  
“Like I said, you’re welcome. I gotta go now, though. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Burr sounded exhausted and Alex felt a slight, unexpected pang of guilt for having added to the struggles the day had put Burr through.  
  
“Yeah. Bye.” Alex smiled a slightly pained smile to himself as he pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call.  
  
He slid off the table and trotted to the fridge to open it and stare into it morosely for a second before throwing the door shit again and listening to the silence of his apartment.  
  
It seemed unbelievably quiet after this loud, exciting afternoon. It was always quiet up here, despite the rattling of the nearby elevated trains passing and the cars down on the street. Every now and then, the neighbours made sounds, cooking, laughing, sex, fighting, singing in the shower. But most of the time it was quiet, scarily quiet, this-is-a-fucking-graveyard-quiet.  
It was bothering him. He definitely needed a roommate of some kind. On the other hand, this apartment was way too small for two people. Maybe he just needed to get out more.  
  
He went back to the table and started emptying his pockets. Keys, a lighter – he still carried that, he didn’t even smoke, not anymore – his phone and-  
  
His movements stalled.   
He was holding the napkin John gave him, and the thing he couldn’t read before, it was visible now, and Alex’ brain was screeching.  
  
It was a phone number.  
A fucking 10-numbers-phone number underneath a doodled turtle on a white napkin.  
  
With the widest eyes, his heart racing and whispering “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” like a fucking 9 th-grader, he left the napkin on the kitchen table and padded to the bathroom to get out of his damp clothes and into the shower.  
  
John had given him his phone number. That meant he liked him, right? Maybe he even _liked_ -liked him. Maybe. Probably not. But maybe.  
  
Lukewarm water drippled down his back and he realized how dumb all this was. Someone like _John Laurens_ with talent and a job and a witty comeback to everything, liking _him_ , a sad, nerdy immigrant from the Caribbean? No way, never. They’d only just met each other about a week ago, anyway, why was John already the only thing Alex could think about?  
  
Most of the people Alex had crushed on in his life were either girls that were way out of his league or guys that turned out straight. In his opinion, he was a tragedy when it came to relationships of any kind anyway, never quite able to maintain contact and stay interested in his lovers and friends, always too married to his writing. He’d definitely find a way to fuck this all up.  
Whatever it was.  
  
But in the end, what did it even matter? John was probably straight anyway. So.  
  
_So stop thinking about it, Alex.  
  
_ He went to bed still thinking about it and hating himself for it.  
  
  
**Aaron Burr unlocked the front door of their townhouse** and was greeted by a little girl, storming towards him, squealing and hugging his legs.  
  
He chuckled, the sound of it seeming even more tired and quiet in the warmth of his home’s wide, bright hallway that was full of jackets, shoes and a bicycle, and bent down to kiss the top her little head, frizzy curls tickling his nose.  
  
“Hey, Sweetie. Why are you still up? Where’s Mommy?” he asked, carefully detaching her little hands from the fabric of his jeans. His daughter was beaming up at him, showing off the big gap between her incisors.  
  
“She wouldn’t go to sleep. Wanted to welcome you home at any price.” He heard a voice from the passage to the living room. When he lifted his head, he saw Theodosia leaning against the wall with her tanned arms crossed in front of her strait chest.  
  
“You’re late. I was worried.” She said, her voice cool, and he slid off his jacket, stepping towards her to kiss her cheek briefly, smiling. His daughter was still tugging at his jeans, demanding attention.   
“I’m sorry. A patient’s son just _had_ to use my phone. He was very persuasive.”  
  
Theo eyed him for a moment, then smiled a little. “Apology accepted. It’s good to see you. Are you hungry? I could warm up a plate of the potatoes we had for you, if you want.” She pushed herself off the wall and watched as he lifted the giggling mess of hair and green pyjamas that was their daughter into his arms, letting out an ‘oof’. “That would be great, thank you. I’ll put the little one to sleep.”  
  
“Dad! I’m almost six, I’m not a little one! Why do I have to go to bed?” she whined, but he just ruffled her hair. “Well, you, Theodosia Burr, are littler than me and your Mom, so you are, in fact, a little one, and you have to go to bed because I said so. Come on!”  
  
He and Theo exchanged a good-natured eye-roll when their daughter started protesting, then she left for the kitchen and he carried Theodosia upstairs to her room, a small square place with one big window that used to be Aaron’s study with a big box of toys by the closet and a plush llama next to the pillow, a cloud-shaped lamp on the wall and stars that glowed in the dark above the bed.  
  
It had been his idea to name their little girl after her mother; Theo said that it was sappy, but he thought it was a beautiful, strong and graceful name that suited their daughter just as much as her mother. At that, Theo had swatted his arm and then kissed his cheek with a smile.  
  
Theodosia had stopped whining and was now surprisingly quiet as he tucked her in. She was such a good child, having adapted as much of her father’s kindness as her mother’s energy. And he loved her so, so much. He’d never thought he even had this much love in him anymore, after everything that had happened with Theo’s first husband and with all those people he saw at the hospital every day, making their way towards the end. With his parents.  
But when Theodosia had come into the world, crying, it had broken his heart, and he’d promised himself something that day.  
  
He would be around for her, dedicate every day to her and make the world safe and sound for his beautiful, sweet daughter. Every time she smiled, he fell apart, and she managed to blow his mind every day.  
  
He petted her hair and kissed her forehead, murmuring “Goodnight, Sweetie.” And then switched off the light.  
  
A slurred, already sleepy “Night, Daddy.” Came to his ears and he smiled before he gently pulled the door shut.  
  
Aaron went back downstairs to the living room where Theo sat on the beige couch with her knees pulled up to her chest, her dreadlocks in a ponytail and a water glass of red wine in her hand. He smiled at her and she smiled back – she always did, it was so comforting and wonderful – before returning her attention to the documentary she was watching. He took off his shoes and climbed on the couch to snuggle up to her, leaning against her shoulder with a weary sigh.  
  
Theo looked down at her exhausted husband, pressed a kiss to his temple and snaked her arm around his shoulder, a smile still lingering on her wide lips.  
  
“Long day?” she asked, facing the TV.  
  
“You could say that.” Aaron muttered back, closing his eyes, breathing in her scent of the (semi-) expensive, flowery perfume he’d given her for her birthday last year, school-chalk and coffee.  
  
He never realized how much he liked being home unless he’d been somewhere really different for a while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you're right, I finally started listening to In the Heights and it's fUCKING GREAT so I will keep referencing it.  
> Thank you for reading, I'm a slut for kudos and comments and really anthing I have a constant need for validation. See you in two weeks, lovelies!


	4. My dearest, Alexandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes a day off and decides to spend it with Alex. It turns out to be a good choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is too long and too bad and contains too many unpopular pop-culture references. A messy lams-feast, beta'd by my beloved, stunning, best half Emma (@avodoca on tumblr). I hope you like it, because I'm not sure if I do yet.  
> The fries and milkshake are an homage to Twist and Shout, and if anyone read that, they're probably crying now. I'm not even sorry.

  
  
**„I don’t have a crush.”**  
  
Alex stared at Rachel seriously, his eyes wide. When he was sure she understood that he meant it, he reached for his cup and took a sip of his coffee.  
It was bitter, black and tasted like hospital cafeteria.   
Today was Saturday, and Rachel was smirking at him from across the table with her chin in her slim hands.  
  
“You are aware that the only thing you’ve talked about since you arrived is John Laurens and his laugh and the way his hair curls in the rain, right?” she said, pointing her teaspoon at him and winking with both eyes.  
  
He lifted his hands and glared at her.   
“Shut up!” he hissed, but her lips just curled even wider. “It’s fine, you know. I don’t judge. Just. Use protection.”  
  
“This is making me uncomfortable.” Alex muttered, and pushed his croissant from one edge of his plate to the other.  
  
He’d never admit it to Rachel, but he had actually dreamed about John tonight. They’d tripped to South Carolina wearing blue, old-fashioned military uniforms in a stretch limousine (Washington, for some reason, was the driver and had yelled at Alex for getting in with dirty boots). They’d met up with Herc and Lafayette, who had a moustache and was carrying tons of baguettes – Alex hated himself for his racist subconscious – gotten drunk and then ended up being arrested for John trying to hook up with a white-dressed stripper. That only to name a few details.  
  
In the morning, waking up in his quiet, sun flooded apartment with a frown about his dream, he had stretched his back and yawned into his pillow wetly, before grabbing his phone, saving John’s number into it and then, burrowed back deeply in his pillow with a soft smile, texting him.  
  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
I just had the weirdest dream  
**JLau  
** YOU USED ONE OF MY NICKNAMES  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
Good morning, you idiot. Do you always use capitals when you’re texting?  
**JLau  
** Don’t be like that I only just woke up man  
So your dream  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** We were soldiers and we were rich, then we were criminals and then we were drunk and then we were in jail.  
**JLau  
** Dark  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** My subconscious is The Worst™.  
**JLau  
** Your subconscious sounds like someone I‘d love to meet  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** You don’t want that, trust me.  
**JLau  
** Do you have to use correct grammar when ur texting  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I’m a writer, what did you expect? **  
** So, when does your store open? **  
JLau  
** Which one **  
A-Dot-Ham  
** The flowery one. **  
JLau  
** Half an hour ago  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Be there in five **  
JLau  
** C u  
  
At the store, he had been handed a to-go cup of black coffee from the Café Adrienne by Eliza and John had given him the bouquet for free, asking him to drop by later with a shy grin.  
Alex had thanked him and promised to be back, and then he was on his way to have breakfast with Rachel at the hospital.  
  
And _maybe_ he had only talked about the people – his friends? – he’d met at the coffee shop, and maybe one individual in particular, but what did it matter? She had asked him to tell her about them on the phone last night, right?  
  
“But Alex, you do remember that I told you to bring them some time, okay? Make sure I get to meet them before- before it’s too late.” Rachel’s voice, quiet and taken back made him snap out of his thoughts.  
  
“Don’t say that. Don’t say that, I don’t want to hear it.” He coaxed out, but she smiled sadly.  
  
“We both know it’s true, though. It won’t be long now. Washington gave me half a year.” She blinked heavily. Alex shook his head.  
  
“He can’t be right about that.”  
  
“He’s never been wrong before.”  
  
They looked at each other, and Alex felt sick.  
_Half a year._  
That couldn’t be true. It was ridiculous, a ridiculously short amount of time. Washington must be mistaken; Alex was sure about it-  
  
“Well, anyway. Are you still certain you’re going to kill the revolutionary from the south? ‘Cause I think it’s cruel.“ Rachel licked a drop of tea off the edge of her cup and eyed Alex attentively.  
  
He blinked and took his own cup into his hands to keep them occupied, then nodded slowly.  
  
“Pretty certain. I’m just telling their story, after all, and if the story demands that one of them has to die, then, so be it, right?”  
  
She pursed her lips and crossed her legs underneath the table, looking out of the window. “If you say so…”  
  
Alex followed her eyes and spotted a tree in the park carrying pale rose blossoms, a cherry tree. He saw Rachel smiling from the corner of his eye.  
  
“I think spring’s coming.” She murmured to the glass, her breath fogging it up, and Alex glanced at her quickly.  
  
Something was different about Rachel, something had changed, but he couldn’t quite make out what it was. How could she even change if he saw here every day? How could anything about her change if he didn’t want her to?  
  
“Yeah.” He agreed quietly, looking at his lap and trying not to think about _half a year._  
It was easier this way. It was easier to sit with her and talk about the way John’s eyes lit up when he smiled, about blooming cherry trees and storytelling rather than realizing that if what Washington said was true, this was the last spring of Rachel’s life.  
  
But she was right; spring was coming. It took only half a week, and Madison was sneezing and complaining about hay fever every two seconds when Alex was at the Café Adrienne with the group.  
  
He’d go there every day after his visit at the hospital, knowing he’d meet them there on their lunchbreak.  
They’d sit at their corner table and spend their two hours talking and drinking coffee. On Sunday, Alex was introduced to Angelica, Eliza’s older, wittier sister who immediately engaged him in a heated conversation about feminism in 18 th century literature.  
On Monday, Lafayette showed up, and John introduced Alex with _‘my friend here’_ which made his heart melt a little.  
  
Lafayette was a tall guy with the greatest hair and the widest smile Alex had ever seen, who spoke really fast in a heavy French accent and put on thick-rimmed glasses whenever someone asked him to read something. He greeted Alex with “Parlez-vous français?” to which Alex replied with “C’est ton café, non? Qu’est-ce qu’un _strawberry-frappe-cream-latte_? Et tu veux verser tout ça dans un petit coupe?”  
  
The door of the coffee shop was always open, letting the warm, shallow spring breeze caress the customer’s legs beneath the tables, and the coffee didn’t taste like hospital, which Alex was even more grateful for than the marvelous blueberry-muffins Lafayette sold on Wednesdays.  
  
After a week, Alex noticed that he followed Herc’s Eliza’s and John’s schedule every day.   
He had indistinguishably developed what almost felt like a routine of getting coffee and flowers at the flower shop, going to the hospital and visiting Rachel, hanging out with the group at the coffee shop, then paying for his drink and going back to the flower shop with John, Herc and Eliza.  
The rest of his afternoons would be spend at the window table in the small café-area of the flower shop, where he would sit and write on his notebook next to half opened windows.  
  
He didn’t get too much down, though, because between customers, John would sit down opposite of him, put his elbows on the table and say: “So, what have Emanuel Barlough and Anthony Jones been up to while I was gone?” John had come up with the names for his gay revolutionaries, and even though Alex was pretty sure there weren’t many people named Anthony in the young nation he was writing about, he was sure as hell not going to change anything about it, because getting to see the way John’s eyes lit up whenever Alex mentioned the names was definitely worth a couple of historical inaccuracies. He probably deserved more credit than Alex when it came to the making of this story by now: he kicked Alex lazy, uninspired ass every day, telling him to _fucking write_ , telling him to _keep going_ , and Alex loved him for it. Because somehow, even when John wasn’t there in the evenings, the thought of him made Alex sit down at his desk every evening and write and write and write and write, somehow finding himself unable to stop.  
Maybe this waterfall of words was what Alex’ writer’s block had been holding back for ages; maybe all it took to release it was a person like John Laurens, who was there in just the right moments to push all the right buttons.  
  
The weeks blurred into each other, and even though every day was pretty much the same, it was still all so different, so new and exciting and whenever Alex spent time with his friends, he was certain he’d never get enough of it.  
  
  
**“Hey, Alex, when are you actually going to apply for a job in our store?”** Eliza asked as she sat a to-go cup of black coffee down in front of him on the counter on a Tuesday morning. She and John had started bringing him coffee in the morning without him asking for it. It was a bright day, windy, dry and warm enough to wear t-shirts.  
  
“Are you serious?” He grinned at her and grabbed the cup, threading his free had through his hair. He wore it down more often these days. Which totally didn’t have anything to do with Laf, who had told him that drunk John had said that he liked it better this way once.  
  
“Well, you’re here all the time, anyway, so why not earn money doing so? I could teach you how to arrange flowers and you wouldn’t have to worry about rent anymore. And don’t try to deny it, I know you’re struggling a bit.” She added when he wanted to protest. Leaning back against the shelf with her arms crossed, she waited for his answer. He looked at the cup in his hands.  
  
Well. When was he going to apply for a job here? It had actually crossed his mind before. It was suggesting after all. He liked the shop and he loved the employees, and what other option was there, really?  
He wanted to say yes. He really wanted to tell Eliza that he’d already thought about it and that he could bring her a resume tomorrow if she wanted to, but then a thought crossed his mind.  
  
_You’re not applying for a job here in New York because that would be settling down.  
It would mean committing yourself to this city, to staying. It would mean this isn’t temporary.  
  
_ It was strange to think these thoughts, because in his heart, he didn’t want it to be temporary.   
In his heart, he already knew that he wasn’t leaving.  
  
When he looked at Eliza, looked around the store, at the street outside and at the blue cup in his hands, he couldn’t imagine a life without all of this. He couldn’t imagine a life where there was no flower shop to write in and no coffee waiting for him in the morning.  
  
But still.  
As much as he’d love to take a job here. He couldn’t.  
  
“I’ll think about it.” He lied, and Eliza wagged her hand in his direction. “Oh, you know, take your time. I’d have to ask Thomas, anyway. I’m only co-owner, but I could recommend you, of course. It’s your decision, though. Think about it.”  
  
Alex nodded at her, smiling as the doorbell jingled.  
  
The usual few customers in the café irritatedly lifted their heads to look at the newcomers, two boys and a girl, rap-battling about TV-shows; Herc in a red baseball t-shirt that was vaguely familiar to Alex, Peggy, choking on a nine-syllables-per-second phrase about Grey’s anatomy in cut off dungarees and John, cackling and poking at Herc’s upper arm, his hair in a slowly dissolving bun.  
  
When Alex saw him, he mentally prepared for his heart to start racing. It was quite a surprise that being around John hadn’t caused him a heart attack yet.  
  
Even after all this time, he still didn’t quite understand how he deserved a person like John Laurens in his life, what he’d done to deserve being the one who got to laugh about John’s dumb jokes, witness his clumsiness, watch him arrange flowers and get him coffee at 5pm when John’s addiction started showing.  
  
Alex had effortlessly worked into his new friend’s routine; he spent as much time with him as he could without keeping John away from his work. It wasn’t a lot, or at least they were rarely ever by themselves, but it was good enough for Alex.  
  
“Hey, you guys are late. Peggs? What are you doing here, aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Eliza greeted them with a half-smile-half-frown as the noisy group of three entered the flower shop.  
  
“We dropped by Laf’s and he told us to take your sister with us because her new-found obsession with Black Sails was pissing him off. So we have a fourth florist with us today, unless Johnny Boy actually wants to take that day off he’s been talking about.” Herc replied, hooking his arm around Peggy’s neck and ruffling her hair with a wide smile. She started squealing and flouncing, trying and failing to wrench out of his grasp. Alex was pretty sure she wasn’t really trying.  
  
John ignored the nickname and when his eyes suddenly found Alex leaning against the counter, his face lit up. He was practically glowing. “Well, look who it is! A-Dot-Ham’s here, everyone, what a surprise! You’re early.” John took a few steps towards him to snatch his cup out of his hand and take a sip, not taking his soft eyes off Alex.  
  
_He looks cute with a bun_ , Alex thought.  
  
“Am I?” He lifted his eyebrows at him with a grin and took his cup back out of John’s hands. John eyed him for a moment, his lips parted in a soft smirk that sent chills down Alex’ spine and then turned around to Eliza.  
  
“Lizzy, _could_ I actually take today off?” he asked hopefully. Eliza rolled her eyes.  
  
“I can’t stop you, right? Well, get out of here.” She shrugged, and the next thing Alex knew, John looped his arm around his shoulder and was dragging him to the door.  
  
“Good, because I’m _starving_. Let’s go, Alex!” he shouted cheerfully. Alex, surprised but more that eager to get onboard with John’s decision of taking him, threw Eliza a brief, apologetic smile.   
“See y’all!” he shouted, and he heard Herc mutter something like “ _Those two are inseparable and gross_.” Before the door fell shut.  
  
  
Blood was roaring in his ears when they stepped out onto the busy sidewalk. John was already talking about the fast-food restaurant he wanted to go to, his arm still casually hooked around Alex’ neck as they walked, making the hairs at the base of his skull stand up.  
He raised his cup to his lips and took a big gulp of coffee, telling himself to relax.  
  
“You have breakfast yet?” John asked.  Alex shook his head quickly, realizing that he didn’t even have his wallet with him.  
  
“I don’t have any money.” He murmured, blushing. He’d knowingly left his wallet on the kitchen table this morning. Eliza was right after all – his savings were slowly but surely running out. He had to be careful what he spent his money on, or he’d find himself homeless in the bat of an eyelash.  
  
“Dude, that’s no problem. I’ll pay for whatever you’re having.” John ruffled his hair with a wide smile before pulling away and getting his phone out of his pocket to check something.  
  
Alex watched him furtively from the corner of his eye, wondering why he was in such a good mood. Was it just because of his free day or because he got top spend time with Alex?  
  
“Yo, Laurens. What are you smiling at?” Alex asked, grinning in an attempt to cover his excitement as they rounded the corner to Atlantic Avenue.  
  
John looked up briefly. “Oh, just. Dunno. I’m just in a good mood today. I don’t have to work. Peggy started watching that show I recommended. The weather is nice. Your hair looks good.” He shrugged, apparently ignorant to the fact that his nonchalant comment about Alex’ hair had managed to send his heart to hell.  
He decided that ignorance was bliss and to let it slide.  
  
“I have to be at the hospital soon. He murmured when John suddenly pulled him out of the crowd on the sidewalk and closer to the shop they had just crossed.  
  
Alex read the sign above the door, the wind on Atlantic Avenue tousling his hair as he narrowed his eyes to see better, thinking he needed glasses to read that, but then found himself in a laughing fit, turning around to face John, who was watching him with a grin.  
  
“Tom’s Diner?” Alex asked, and John nodded, seeming satisfied.  
  
“Like the Suzanne Vega Song?”  
“Like the Suzanne Vega Song, that’s right, Ham. How come you know my dearest, Suzanne?” John stowed his phone back in his pocket and pushed the door open, heading into the diner with a wide smile.  
  
“I thought I was your dearest.” Alex said, acting upset, and John punched his arm.  
  
“I love both of you in an entirely different way, Baby Girl, don’t make me choose. But seriously. Almost no one gets the joke. It’s just sad.”  
  
Alex tried not to choke on his next sentence at the new nickname John had used and looked around the diner so the other boy couldn’t see the scarlet color of his cheeks.  
  
It was cool in here, the floor tiled in a black-and-white checks pattern and the cushions on the booths dark cyan. The ceiling fan was spinning lazily above their heads, all different from the buzzing conversations of the customers around them.  
  
“Damn. This place must be making tons more than Mc. Donald’s.” Alex muttered, and John grinned at him briefly over his shoulder. He was walking to the counter like he owned the place, getting out his wallet as he went.   
“What did you expect? The food here is fucking lightyears better than the shit they feed you at Mc.D’s. That stuff is just gross. You don’t know what a French fry is until you’ve been here, Alex, mark. My. Words.” John shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it himself.  
  
He didn’t ask what Alex wanted – and even if he had, Alex would have known what to respond – he just said a few words to the guy manning the register and leaned against the counter, humming under his breath before cutting himself off.  
  
“Shit, every goddamn time I go here, that fucking song just gets stuck in my head for ages.” He muttered, shaking his head with a scowl, and Alex noticed that his brain had started singing, too. He tipped his head back, letting out a groan. “Did I ever mention that I hate you with a burning passion, because now I have it, too. Fuck you, Laurens.”  
  
John smirked at him over his shoulder as he took the slightly greasy brown paper bag the cashier was holding out and pushed a couple of bucks into his hand instead. “Ah, chillax. You know you love me.”  
  
Alex eyed him with disgust and followed him, making their way to a table by the window. “I think you’re the only person who can pull of a _chillax_ in 2017.” He muttered as he slid into his respective side of the booth, the worn cushion giving away under the weight of his body. The sunlight that fell in through the window stung sharply in his eyes. He felt himself squinting as he glanced at the boy opposite of him.  
  
It just wasn’t fair that John got to look perfect and cute and happy, already diving headfirst into the paper bag and coming forth with two cups of fries and a plastic can of something that looked like the best fucking milkshake Alex had ever seen, while he was left squinting and looking like a fucking dork with resting bitchface.  
  
“I worked all my life to earn that privilege, Ham. That’s lots of cringeworthy moments that I would be most fucking happy to keep secret, thank you.” John gave him a benevolent smile and grabbed the salt, shaking a good amount of it on his fries.  
Alex watched, chuckling sadly at the thought of a younger John with cute lil curls and huge eyes, screaming “Chillax!” in a schoolyard with everyone laughing at him.  
  
“I’ll give you the money tomorrow, if that’s okay.” he said. John set the salt down and frowned at him.  
  
“I don’t want your money. I dragged you here, look at this milkshake. I got this just for you. Keep your money.” He threw a paper napkin across the table with an amused scoff, and Alex felt his heart grow warm for this wonderful boy on the other side of the table as he caught the napkin with a squeak.  
  
A straw followed the napkin and he couldn’t hold back another squeak. Why did John have to throw everything?  
  
Whenever Alex was with him, as much as he loved it, he felt like he couldn’t quite keep up with him. He always felt a bit breathless, reckless, and head-spinning-silly, like he was a bit out of practice in this game they were playing.  
  
And perhaps he was. He hadn’t had a friend or anything of that kind in years.  
And never, in all his life, like this.  
  
Not with the urge to smile whenever he saw him.  
  
They started eating, sipping on their respective straws and staying in the comfortable silence building up between them, both trailing after their own thoughts, and Alex didn’t know about John, but he couldn’t think straight since something had occurred to him and was now gnawing at his insides, like a thought not letting him sleep.  
  
Was this a date?  
  
He felt pathetic for even thinking so, but it somewhat felt like it, sitting here in this diner and fucking sharing a milkshake and staring at each other from their respective sides of the table. Exchanging dumb little giggles whenever the other let out an especially sexual moan after taking a sip from their straw. Stealing John’s fries and then acting like he didn’t notice when John stole his own in return.  
  
After a while, John started talking about music, telling Alex what he absolutely had to listen to (Nas – what the fuck do you mean you never heard of him? – Say Anything – I’ll just give you all of them, because literally all of it is fucking awesome – Twenty One Pilots – let’s be honest, we all pretend to hate them, but for real, everyone listens to them because they’re _the shit_ – My Chemical Romance – we all have our teenage emo-phase guilty pleasures, and mine just sort of stuck till I was twenty – Sufjan Stevens – because he is the best, purest, gayest shit I have ever listened to and you don’t get to judge me) and then Alex was listing bands that John absolutely had to listen to, and they were back in their flow, which didn’t stop until John interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence about overrated vacation spots.  
  
“Don’t you have to be at the hospital by nine?” he asked.  
  
The sun had moved, hitting the entire side of the diner with all its brightness now, and the milkshake was empty.  
  
Alex’ eyes widened in shock and he buried his hand in his slightly mussed up hair as he shot to his feet. “Shit, you’re right! I completely forgot the time, what time is it?” He grabbed his backpack and threw it over his shoulder, screeching as a couple of a couple of strands got stuck underneath the handle.  
  
John looked up at him, smiling. “Relax. You still have 15 minutes.”  
  
“We should get going.”  
  
John frowned but grabbed his phone from the table nevertheless. “ _We_? Who says I’m coming, Baby Girl?” he asked, eyeing Alex with his eyebrows lifted.  
  
Alex tried not to take too much notice of the nickname as he said: “Me. You’re the one who wanted to hang; now you’re stuck with me.”  
He grinned, feeling weirdly reckless as he did so.   
  
John stepped closer to him. “Do you think your Mom’s okay with that?” he muttered. Any trace of mischief had left his features. His face was completely serious; a little scared, but serious.  
  
Alex nodded encouragingly. “Definitely. You’re coming, Laurens.”  
  
John remained silent as he grabbed his own bag and shoved his phone back into his pocket as they made their way to the exit, stepping out into the blustery New Yorker morning again.  
  
On the way back to the hospital, Alex was quiet. John’s phone was buzzing continuously, Lafayette asking what he was doing. At some point, John couldn’t ignore it anymore.  
He unlocked his phone and read what Laf had to say.  
  
**Labaguette  
** John  
JOHN  
Ami what’s happening where are you  
**JLau  
** Wtf Laf  
**Labaguette**  
Where are you I miss your face  
**JLau**  
Le moi and Baby Girl were at Tom’s why  
**Labaguette**  
You’re kidding  
**JLau**  
What  
**Labaguette**  
It is a date  
  
John felt himself choke on his tongue and quickly locked his phone, burying it deep, deep in his jeans pocket when Alex leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a look at it.  
  
“Who’s texting you?” he asked curiously. John felt his cheeks flush and turned to the street.  
  
“Laf. Wants to know if we’re on a date.” _Wow, this sidewalk has really nice concrete. Don’t look up, John. Such nice concrete.  
  
_ He wanted to scream. Why did Laf have to ask stuff like that? John didn’t know what this was himself. He hadn’t been thinking when he’d pulled Alex out of the door of the flower shop. He hadn’t been thinking what it might look like, that to their friends it might look like a date or whatever – John hated that word anyway. The only thing he’d thought about was that he got to spend time with Alex, that he got to spend time with him and talk to him and be near him. That was the only thing that had mattered to him.  
  
So what if it was a date. So what. John liked Alex. He was his friend, goddammit, why shouldn’t John want to spend time with him?  
  
“What did you reply?” Alex’ voice came, a little hesitatingly as they rounded a corner and were back on the flower shop’s street.  
John remained silent for another second, feverishly trying to come up with a comeback. The warm wind tousled his hair and he felt himself smiling.  
  
“I didn’t.” he said quietly, looking up at Alex with an open look and a fluttering heart, and started arranging flowers in his mind while Alex’ eyebrows lifted a little in surprise, his lips parting.  
John had already thrown a couple of marguerites and together with poppy and baby’s breath, forming something he’d like to leave at his mother’s grave – though he didn’t even know here that was, he’d never been there – before Ale’ thin lips spread into a smile.  
  
“And just between the two of us, what would you say this is?” Alex teased, and John sort of wanted to punch him.  
  
Or kiss him.  
  
Right here, right here in the middle of the sidewalk. He could see it now. Just put his hands on either side of Alex’ face and pull him in, kiss him and not stop if he didn’t push him away.  
  
Because when the sunlight hit Alex’ tanned face this way, his eyes looked less almost-black and more like chestnuts, and his hair inky and soft, John wasn’t sure where the world stopped and this wonderful guy before him began. His friend, his best friend Alexander Hamilton.  
  
“It’s what we decide to make of it.” He said, and then, Alex was shoving his shoulder with an eye-roll, and laughter was bubbling out of John.  
  
“Oh, shut up, Kate Winslet. I think I’m gonna puke.” Alex snarled, chuckling. John hooked his arm around his shoulder again, starting to belt out _My heart will go on_. After two blocks of John shamelessly singing and Alex glancing around himself and elbowing his side, he finally joined in.  
  
They walked, and they sang, and John looked at Alex, and he was smiling. It was what they decided to make of it. For now, it was just two people who liked each other, together in New York.   
  
What did it matter if he wanted to kiss Alex? What did it really matter?  
  
For now, John didn’t care what this was, what they were. He was with Alex, and he was pretty sure this was the best day of his life so far.  
  
  
**They arrived at the hospital at exactly 9am**. Alex guided John, who was looking around himself in the foyer, examining the waiting rooms and the reception with wide, curious eyes past the long front desk and to the elevator.  
  
“You ever been here before?” Alex asked and pushed the button when they stopped at the elevator.  
  
John shook his head. “Nah. Peggy broke her toe skating once, but Angelica treated that herself. Med students, I swear to go. So cocky.”  
Alex nodded in agreement and they continued waiting silently until the elevator came.  
  
When they got in, Alex seemed to notice that John was getting more nervous by the second and stepped closer to him, to that their elbows were touching.  
  
It was warm in the elevator. John looked at Alex in the mirror, imagining how he stood here every day, in this uncomfortably silent heat and stared at his feet, waiting.  
He felt somewhat like an intruder, sneaking into this hospital like a parasite even though it was Alex’ mother up there that lay in that bed.   
  
John wasn’t supposed to be here.  
  
Alex met his eyes in the mirror, shooting him a brief smile. “Everything alright?” he asked.   
  
John tried to nod. “Yeah. I mean- I just feel like I’m intruding. It’s your mother up there, and it’s your time you have with her. I don’t want to take that from you.” He coaxed out. Alex frowned and swayed in a hair.  
Now their hands were touching, too, and John twitched, a chill going down his spine.  
  
“John. You’re not intruding. I dragged you along, and I want you here.” He muttered and straightened his shoulders, not facing John as the doors slid open.  
  
The hallway before them was long, deserted and so quiet.  
  
John counted the doors with wide eyes. He couldn’t imagine there were people fighting for their lives behind each and every one of them; he didn’t want to imagine some of them losing the fight and dying.  
  
He didn’t want to imagine his own mother in a place like this. He couldn’t-  
  
“Are you coming or what?”  
  
John snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Alex who was already outside, grinning.  
  
“By all means, lead the way.” He returned, his throat feeling dry as he attempted to smile. He felt strangely depressed; like the cool, sweet air in the hallway was harder to breathe than the warmth of the elevator, as if it was thicker. As if he was trying to breathe underwater.  
  
He followed Alex down the corridor, listening to his sneakers squeaking obnoxiously on the linoleum and the other boy going on about how he always counted the doors when he walked here, sometimes in French or Spanish just for fun.  
  
John looked up when Alex came to a halt in front of a door on the right side of the hallway.  
  
“Is this it, then?” he asked. Alex nodded and John saw his jaw clench as he turned around to knock on the wood firmly, putting on a smile.  
  
It took a moment, but then the door was opened by a young man. “Alexander. Good morning.” He said, his almond eyes falling on John and his nervous smile. They narrowed indistinguishably.   
  
“Oh, who are you? Who is this kid?” he asked curiously, turning to Alex again.  
  
“This is my best friend, John Laurens. Be nice, Burr.” Alex gave John an engaging smile before turning around and heading into the room.  
  
John didn’t have much time to get excited about the fact that Alex had introduced him as his best friend, though, because as soon as the nurse stepped aside, shooting him one last curious look, John caught a glimpse of the bed.  
And the woman in it.  
  
He had imagined a lot of faces when Alex talked about his mother. Part of him suggested a Dominican Version of Eurus from Sherlock, or maybe a bit like Eliza, that somehow felt suggesting to him since Lizzy was the woman he saw Alex interact with the most, but the one logical thing that John hadn’t thought of was that his mother looked like Alex.  
  
The resemblance was breathtaking.  
  
The woman had the same wide, dark, kind eyes, the same long nose and the same small, gentle smile on her wide lips. Her shoulders were just as narrow but strong as Alex’. Even the way she was fidgeting with the thin silver bracelet on her arm reminded him of Alex.  
  
The one significant difference was that Alex looked alive, as alive as one could be. His cheeks were tawny, rosy and golden, his hair soft and silky and dark and reflected the sunlight when he stepped into it. He had skin that gave when you squeezed it, and you could see the veins on the back of his hands.  
  
It wasn’t like that at all with his mother.  
Her hair was short, if shaved for operations or gone because of chemo-therapy, John couldn’t tell. Her collarbone, wrists and knuckles stuck out sharply under her smooth and pale, almost yellowish skin. She was horrifyingly skinny; the blue hospital shirt hung off her frame and made her disappear and seem smaller than she probably was.  
  
John swallowed, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t leave.  
  
That poor woman that looked like Alex was so obviously sick that it was hard to look at.  
  
“Good morning, Alex! Who’s your friend?” she suddenly asked, and any trace of doubt that that was actually Alex’ mother disappeared from John’s mind when he heard her voice.  
She sounded so _alive_.   
Her voice mad John’s heart warm. It was like she wasn’t just asking for his name but reaching out, touching his hand and threading her long, thin fingers through his curls and smiling at him, and as if that, just that could make John forget all his worries and discomforts, all the bad things that had happened and all the pain he had endured. All of it, gone, just with the soft, melodic sing-song of this woman’s voice.  
  
“This is John. Behave.” Alex grinned at his mother and sat down in a white plastic chair next to her bed. John smiled politely and shuffled after Alex shyly, pulling another chair up to the bed and sitting down next to his friend.  
  
“ _Aaah_. Hey, John, my name is Rachel. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She eyed him attentively as his heart skipped a beat. He glanced at Alex from the corner of his eye and caught a glimpse of a slight blush along the top of his cheeks before he looked away and at his hands in his lap quickly, his head swimming.  
  
Had Alex been _talking_ about him?  
  
“Only the good stuff, I hope.” He chuckled nervously, finally snapping his eyes up at Rachel again.  
She was still looking at him, smiling wider, her head tilted to the side as if she was trying to get an impression of what kind of a guy he was.  
“Oh, you bet.” She murmured.   
  
What did that mean? What did that _mean_?  
  
“Well, anyway. So you’re the one who made all those bouquets for me? You’re good at that.” She said in a conversational tone, gesturing towards the nightstand with her slender hand. Only now John noticed the bouquet of gerberas in a tall vase next to a stack of books and a table phone. He raised his eyes in surprise, recognizing that it was the one he’d made for Alex on Saturday.  
  
“Oh. Yeah. That’s me. And Herc and Lizzy. My coworkers. I’m guessing you heard of them, too?”   
  
“A lot. Always talks so much, our Alex doesn’t he?” _Our_ Alex.  
  
_Our_ Alex sat and watched with narrowed eyes as his mother grinned, nodding to herself absent-mindedly. “Mom, seriously?” he snarled, adding a scoff and throwing his hair back. John smirked at him over his shoulder, and then turned to face Rachel again, nodding his head wildly in agreement.  
  
“Totally. Doesn’t shut up unless you call him nicknames, isn’t that right, Alexhamder?”  
  
He heard Alex hiss behind him. Rachel laughed, a bright, clear sound, a little hoarse. “Oh gosh, I never used that one before. Gotta try it some time. My personal favorite is just _Alexandra_ , you see. Drives him mad.”  
  
Alex was screeching. “Mom! What the fuck, don’t _encourage_ him!”  
  
“I don’t need encouragement to be annoying, Alexandra.” John said and turned halfway in his chair to put his arms on the back of it, resting his chin on them and smiling at Alex softly.  
  
He knew Alex liked his smile. He saw it in his eyes, in the way he seemed to melt a little every time John smiled at him. It was gorgeous and addicting to see how one smile from John’s lips, such a simple act could take him apart so easily. How he had him on a string. He was so helpless to it, and it made John feel like he could take on the whole wide world.   
  
“My dearest, Alexandra.”  He whispered, making sure only Alex could hear it. And even though Alex leaned back on his chair, pretending to not have noticed a thing, snarling “Well, you two seem to get along wonderfully.” John could see his blush. He could see it, and a smirk spread over his face.  
Like he said, it made him feel like he could take on the whole wide world.  
  
Alex gave Rachel a pointed look and muttered “I wonder how long it’ll take for you to tell the librarian-story.”  
  
John picked his ears up and turned back around. “Librarian story?” he asked, looking at Rachel curiously as Alex started howling behind him, something like “I SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID ANYTHING!!”  
  
Even though Alex protested heavily, the librarian story was told, as well as numerous other stories from Alex’ childhood and a couple of anecdotes from St. Croix. _  
_ Noon came and went, they had lunch in the hospital cafeteria (basically Rachel ordering pasta and then forcing Alex and John to have bites of it) and then went back upstairs where the nurse from before stopped them in the hallway with wide eyes.  
  
“Hamilton, what the fuck are you still doing here? Rachel, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You guys have to leave. It’s almost half to 4pm; you’re really not supposed to be here anymore. I’ll get yelled at by some idiot manager.” He looked around himself anxiously, but Alex just lifted an eyebrow at him.   
  
“You have a manager? You mean Washington? Nah, I don’t really think he would yell at you. He likes you. That’s why he made you head-nurse-or whatever it is you are.”  
  
“Alex, there is no such thing as _head nurse_ , I’m just in charge of more patients than, for example, Lee. But he’s an idiot anyway, so. But, theoretically, Washington could fire me. So you need to get out of here. Now.” Burr looked down at Alex, and John stepped closer to Rachel with a frown.  
  
“Why is he so scared?” he asked her, and Rachel shrugged. “Dr. Washington is chief physician. He’s really nice, but also kind of… _impressive_.”  
  
Alex and Burr started arguing in front of them, their whispers growing louder, until Rachel stepped forward, pulling Alex away from Burr.  
  
“Boys, calm down. Aaron’s right. You two should probably get going. I’ll just see you tomorrow, Alex.”  
   
Once she was sure there wasn’t going to be any fighting, she let go of Alex arm, who shot Burr one last death-stare, straightening his t-shirt out. “Fine.” He growled, “Tomorrow.”  
  
Rachel smiled at John over her shoulder. “It was wonderful to finally meet you. I hope to see you again some time.” She said, her voice adoring and genuine.   
John attempted to smile back, sad that they had to leave. He didn’t want to, not yet, no. Talking to Rachel had been so nice; John wondered what parts of his personality Alex could have possibly gotten from his father if he and his mother were already equally intelligent, witty and kind.   
  
His short temper, maybe. John couldn’t hold back a grin at the thought.  
  
“I hope so, too.” He replied. Rachel turned around to face her son. “Alex, I like this guy. Please keep him.”   
  
Alex just rolled his eyes and walked towards John, hooking his arm around his neck the way he’d done it this morning – he had to stand on his toes in order to reach up.  
  
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not ever letting this one leave.”   
  
They heard Rachel and Burr chuckle behind them as Alex waved without turning around, dragging the whining John to the elevator.  
  
After the doors closed, Alex took a little longer than necessary to untangle his arm from John’s hair. They were both a little out of breath, and leaned against opposite walls of the elevator, grinning at each other.  
  
“You’re not letting me leave, huh?” John smirked and redid his ponytail, managing to not take his eyes from Alex in the process.   
  
“Damn right I’m not ever letting you leave. You and I, do or die, Laurens. Also, if someone gets along that well with my mother, why the fuck would I ever let them leave? I mean, seriously.” Alex shook his head. “You like. Just bonded over bullying me in what, three minutes? That must be a new record.”  
  
John chuckled. “Well, what can I say? That story about the librarian, though. You must have been a really cute child if she mistook you for a girl.”  
  
Alex rolled his eyes, glaring, but then his expression softened. “You have no idea.” he whispered, narrowing his eyes. “I was the cutest fucking kid on the entire island. Didn’t really help me finding friends, though.”  
  
John groaned, dropping his head back against the wall. “Ugh,same. Kids are just dumb. I mean, clearly, we are both fun friends to have, right? Right?”   
  
“Well, I know I am. Not so sure about you, though. You flirt too much.” Alex crossed his arms behind his back and smiled widely as John gasped, acting upset.  
  
“What the fuck, Hamilton. There _is_ no too much when it comes to flirting.” He scoffed, throwing his hair back, and Alex chuckled tiredly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.  
  
“There most definitely is, John. Please shut up.”  
  
John opened his mouth to respond, but then he noticed that he was too tired for it himself and just leaned back against the wall, watching Alex facepalm through his eyelashes and waiting for the elevator to stop.  
  
  
**A moment later** , they were stumbling through the foyer, and Alex was trying to mix _Tom’s Diner_ and _My heart will go on_ , John giggling unstoppably about the horrible lyrics he was coming up with.  
  
When they walked out onto the sidewalk, John inhaled deeply; the unusual warmth of the day was still lingering in the air, and he felt himself smile against the sun that was already narrowing down on the horizon with his eyes fluttering shut.  
It was that kind of sunlight that he knew made him get more freckles. He didn’t like them, but he didn’t mind right now. Right now, it was just warm and pleasant and he wanted to stay in the moment forever.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Alex was smiling at him.  
  
“What?” he asked and felt a blush creep up his cheeks. The way Alex looked at him, attentively, almost adoringly, made his entire body tingle and warm.  
  
Alex shook his head quickly, as if he was trying to clear it of thoughts and looked down the street. “’S nothing.” He murmured, hiding his soft smile behind his hair.  
  
Suddenly, as he was eyeing the shops, his eyes lit up.   
“Oh my god. Oh _god_ , I could _so_ go for some donuts right now. _Damn_. Laurens, please buy me donuts. Please. Thank you.”   
He grabbed John’s shoulder, clung on to it and dragged him across the street to a bakery. John stumbled after him, rolling his eyes with another breathless smile.  
  
“What the fuck Hamilton, we literally just had lunch. Alex!”  
  
Alex was already pushing him into the store, grinning wolfishly at the barista and ordering _a shitload of donuts._ The guy frowned, but started packing a bag.  
  
John came to a halt beside Alex and looked down at him.  
  
“Alex, you’re insane.” He shook his head, and when the barista lifted his eyes with another weirded-out look, he pointed his finger at Alex and lifted his eyebrows. “This kid is insane, man. Better pack those donuts quick.”  
  
The guy looked like he was about to burst into tears when Alex started humming his _My Tom’s Diner will go on_ , and forgot to make them pay for their donuts, just pushing them across the counter and pointing at the door.  
  
John grabbed the bag hesitatingly and then hurried to follow Alex outside, running to catch up with him.  
  
“Where should we have these?” he asked, holding up the brown paper bag. Alex seemed to consider for a moment, then took the bag into his right hand and John’s hand into his left.   
John stared down at their intertwined fingers, terrified and unbelievably excited at the same time.   
  
“I know just where, Laurens. Follow me.” He grinned back at John sweetly, starting to stroll down the street.  
  
And John’s heart was thudding, racing in his chest.  
  
He was holding his best friend’s hand. He was holding Alexander Hamilton’s hand. Was this really happening?  
  
Alex’ hand was warm and welcoming in his, small and familiar, like it had always been supposed to be there. His friend guided him through the streets, towards the sun, Manhattan and the river, and he didn’t want to let go.  
  
But the longer they walked, the longer Alex’ skin was on his, making him tingle and grow dizzy and sweat buckets, the more aware he became of the fact that they’d have to talk about this at some point, that they couldn’t go on the way they were holding up.  
  
The last thing John wanted was to figure out what they were. Perhaps it was because he was scared that maybe, in the end, they were “just” friends, or that maybe Alex was, in fact, straight and just an incredibly touchy-feely guy, or it was simply because his palm was growing sweaty, but when they rounded the next corner, he squeezed Alex’ hand quickly and then wrenched out of his grasp.  
  
Alex looked down at his hand briefly, but didn’t say anything.  
John found himself being relieved that he didn’t.  
  
“Hey. Where are you taking me?” he asked, clearing his throat as he eyed his friend’s back suspiciously.  
  
“It’s a surprise. But dude. I’m about to change your life.” Alex smirked at him over his shoulder, apparently having his wits back about him.  
  
“You think you can surprise me? I’ve been living here for almost a year, Hammy. There’s no part of Brooklyn I don’t know.” John said dryly. He was actually pretty sure there were plenty of places that he didn’t know. After all, most of his life took place on one street, where his apartment building was just three blocks away from Brooklyn Flowers and the Café Adrienne, but Alex didn’t need to know that.  
  
“We’ll see about that, Johnny.”  
  
John didn’t need to see his friend’s face to know he was grinning.  
  
After about 15 minutes of walking, Alex raised his free hand and pointed at a bright green lawn between the buildings at the end of the street, and beyond, the East River and Manhattan in the distance.  
People, mostly young folks were in the park, sitting in groups on the grass and on blankets, some with guitars or throwing footballs.  
  
John stopped walking next to Alex and lifted his eyebrows at him. “A park? That’s the best thing you could come up with?” he teased, grinning.  
  
“Shhhut your mouth, Laurens. I like parks. Parks are cool. Besides, you are a florist. You gotta love plants. Let’s go.” Alex shoved his shoulder when John started laughing at him.  
  
“Shut _up_! I’m unfriending you, you fuck!” Alex snarled. John gasped as he hurried after him.  
  
“Don’t you dare, Hamilton. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I couldn’t bully you every day. Alex!” He laughed harder when Alex flashed a grin at him over his shoulder, showing him his middle finger.  
  
They kept walking in comfortable silence, Alex a few feet in front of John, swinging the bag of donuts around.   
  
After a while they found a place to sit beneath a group of trees on a hill, where they sat down on their jackets and unpacked the donuts in the orange light of the setting sun, Alex squealing happily at the sight and John rolling his eyes simultaneously.  
  
They sat and talked for a long time, especially about Rachel, Alex’ childhood – John succeeded in not talking about his own whatsoever – and what they would do if they ever had enough money to get out of Brooklyn. The sun shone from behind Manhattan’s skyscrapers, and they ripped the different donuts apart in the middle so both of them got a half of it.  
  
Somebody down the hill had a Ukulele with them and was playing a song that was vaguely familiar to John. At some point, when he recognized the lyrics, he started humming along.   
Alex, who had given up his sitting position a while ago and was now lying spread out across their jackets and the grass, placed his head on John’s thigh, flipping himself to lie on his back and closing his eyes with a smile.   
  
John watched the sun set and glanced down at Alex every now and then, trying to memorize the pleasant weight and soft press of his small head against his thigh, savoring it for the collection of things to think about when his hands started shaking. The air was warm, full of the smell of grass and a faint bit of cigarette smoke. His tongue still tasted of chocolate, another song started off from down the hill, and yes.  
  
Yes, John was sure that this was the best day of his life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry. Please don't hate me, I know how bad this chapter was. Lots of tests, lots of papers. The next one will be better, I promise. Come yell at me on tumblr (nordpolkind.tumb.com).
> 
> Translations:  
> “Parlez-vous français?”  
> ~ "Do you speak French?"  
> “C’est ton café, non? Qu’est ce qu’un strawberry-frappe-cream-latte? Et tu veux verser tout ça dans un petit coupe?”  
> ~ "You own this café, right? Could you please tell me what the hell a strawberry-frappe-cream-latte is and how all that is even supposed to fit in one cup?" (Basically, I don't fucking speak French. If there are any French readers, please feel free to correct me.)
> 
> Ps:  
> You should really listen to all those bands John listed. And if you decide to check out the Suzanne Vega Song, listen to the ORIGINAL version, the one without instrumentals. Seriously. I am trying to save you a lot of pain.


	5. Raise a glass to the four of us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John invites Alex to a 'Lord of the Rings' marathon at his place. It all gets kind of messy when John realizes a few things about their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back!  
> This chapter was, again, amazingly beta'd by Emma. My favorite dipshit ♥w♥. Thank you for your continuous support, love!
> 
> This chapter was soo hard to write? Like, I wasn't at school this week, i was interning in my old kindergarten, so I lacked all the boring math-lessons and wasn't even halfway done by Friday. Then I had a massive mental breakdown and well. It was all kind of messy, but I made it in the end, yeyy!  
> This thing turned out to be soo sinful? I'm sorry. I apologize in advance for the horrible things I did to the American national anthem. If anyone is offended, I didn't mean to, and you can always come yell at me in the comments or on tumblr (@nordpolkind).  
> I'm also sorry for this slowest of slow burns. I can't help it.
> 
> Okay, that was a lot. I'll leave you to it!

  
  
**It was already dark, the air cooler with the sun gone** in the emptying park when somebody nudged Alex’ shoulder gently, a soft voice humming his name.  
  
“Alex…”  
  
Alex made a groaning sound in the back of his throat and turned his head away from the voice that was creeping into his light, dreamless sleep. He nuzzled deeper into the soft, warm thing underneath his head. There was a chuckle, a deep, soft sound coming from right beside Alex’ ear. He felt himself frown.  
  
“Alex. Hey, man. My leg’s asleep, you gotta wake up.”  
  
_That voice_ again _. Such_ a beautiful voice, just the right, delicate note of rasp and southern, melodic and energetic, and _ugh_ , it was so beautiful, almost orgasmic. Whoever owned it, Alex was _very_ jealous.  
  
“Dude. Please. I really have to move this leg.”  
  
Alex reluctantly cracked his eyes open with another groan, and saw John grin above him, muttering “Morning, sunshine.” , his head a dark outline against an indigo sky.  
  
Oh.  
  
_Oh.  
  
_ “Shit! Fuck. Oh, fuck, sorry.” He spat out, scrabbling away with blood roaring in his ears, thinking he’d literally just called his best friend’s voice _orgasmic,_ what was his deal?  
  
Alex could vaguely remember using John’s thigh as a pillow earlier, but it hadn’t been dark then.  
Had he _fallen asleep_ in John’s lap?  
  
He blushed hard, hoping John couldn’t see it in the dark as he buried his hand in his messy hair.   
“Sorry. _Sorry_.” He mumbled again. Shit, this was embarrassing. Hadn’t it been awkward enough that John didn’t want to hold his hand earlier? Wasn’t that enough? Wasn’t that already fucking enough?   
No, oh no, he also just _had_ to fall asleep in his best friend’s lap, because he was Alexander Hamilton, and whenever he fucked up, he fucked up _royally_.   
_What the fuck, Alex, what the actual fuck.  
  
_ “’S no big deal, dude.” John stood and arched his back, cracking it and yawning before he looked back down at Alex. “What are we doing now?”  
  
“I... I think I’m going home.” Alex muttered, scrambling in his pockets for an elastic band to put his hair up and get some clear thoughts. He was groggy with sleep and felt sort of gross and disoriented, not quite managing to forget the softness of John’s thigh against the side of his face.  
_Damn straight you’re going home. You’ve done enough damage for one day.  
  
_ “Ah. Really? ‘Cause I was going to ask you if you maybe want to come join Herc, Laf and me in our humble dwelling, because it’s like this; Tuesday is _Lord of the Rings_ night at ours’, and I was kinda looking forward to fanboying over Aragorn with you. But like. If you have better plans, then… that’s cool, too.” John shrugged, seeming disappointed as he picked up his jacket and started pulling leaves of grass out of it.  
  
“I will escort you home, first, though. Don’t want my man Alex to walk around this bad, bad neighborhood all on his own at _6pm_ , right?” he joked. Alex watched him throw his backpack over his shoulder and hold a hand out to him with wide eyes.  
  
_Lord of the Rings_ night with Herc? Laf? And him?  
  
He was kidding, right?  
  
A tiny voice in the back of his head was telling him to go home. He’d really done and said enough stupid and impulsive shit today. He didn’t need another five hours of the constant threat of overstepping the thin, thin line between him and John.   
  
He didn’t need to do that to himself.   
He shouldn’t do that to John.  
  
But here he was. His gorgeous, loud but also quiet, crying-over-turtle-gifs best friend with his stupid, beautiful shitface-grin and his warm, welcoming hand extended towards Alex.  
  
Without further thinking about what he was doing, Alex grabbed John’s hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.  
  
“Dude. I’m not going home. I’m coming with you, and sign me the fuck up for the fanboying. But only if we can fanboy over Éomer a bit, too.” He smiled a crooked smile and wished there was a way to kick himself in the shin.   
  
This was a stupid decision. Go _home_ , Alexander, go home and leave the poor guy alone.  
  
John’s teeth reflected the glow of the city across the river as he grinned back.  
  
“You can team up with Laf, then. He’s such a slut for Éomer. And that way, I get to team up with Herc. Which means I’m definitely winning every drinking game.” He eyed Alex, who was still trying to distract himself with feverishly searching his pockets for an elastic band and seemed to recognize his struggle, because a moment later, he slid one off his wrist and handed it to him.  
  
“Oh. Thanks.” Alex muttered. John waved it off and started walking. “No problem. We long-haired people gotta stick together, after all, right?”  
  
Alex pulled his hair up into a ponytail and followed John down the hill.  
  
“So, that’s what y’all do? Watch fantasy movies and take shots at night and arrange flowers and take customers on fry-dates at day? You’re intimidating.” He muttered. John laughed loudly without turning around. Alex noticed a line of dark freckles along his neck he hadn’t noticed before that looked like the great bear.  
  
“You really think so? It’s just Herc, Laf and me, you know. We’re not that cool.” He smiled at Alex over his shoulder sweetly with a one-sided shrug.   
  
Alex stayed silent for another moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. They had left the park by now, walking down the small street they’d come.  
They passed three streetlights in silence, then Alex took a breath of cool, vernal air.  
  
“I think you’re pretty cool.” He said. John looked up and ran a hand over his neck, blushing a little.  
  
Alex looked at him and asked himself if maybe, he had actually gained a few freckles. They seemed different from their usual order that had grown so familiar to Alex over the past two weeks.  
Maybe they just aligned differently at night because some of them returned to the night sky, going back to being stars instead of dots on John’s smooth skin.  
  
“If you say so, Ham, but like, dude. You’re part of that _cool_ group now, you know that right?” John kicked imaginary rocks on the sidewalk, pretending not to notice Alex staring at him like an idiot. “Are you serious?”   
  
“Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, you probably spend more time at the flower shop than I do, and you’re the only one Laf gives muffins for free, and all Peggy ever talks about is how she has to get you so drunk one day that you’ll let her braid your hair. They’re dropping hints that they absolutely adore you. So welcome to the crowd.” He patted Alex shoulder benevolently with a warm grin and Alex found himself smiling widely the whole time as they made their way back to their street.  
  
Only when they passed the dark coffee shop and flower store, Alex realized with excitement and fear that he and John wouldn’t part in 7 blocks like they usually did when the shops closed in the evening. There were no more blocks he had to walk on his own, no corner he had to make, no moldy, come-down building and no quiet, anonymous apartment waiting for him tonight.  
  
Because he and John weren’t parting tonight.  
Because this amazing, amazing day wasn’t quite over yet.  
  
They made their way down the street, John texting the whole time and Alex fantasizing what his friends’ apartment looked like. Surprisingly, he’d never been there before. The only thing he knew was that John shared it with Herc and Laf and that there was a bathroom Laf occupied for approximately six hours every day to style his hair. (In fact, he also knew that Herc was the only one who knew how to get the washing machine going and that John had spray-painted a blue turtle on the kitchen wall once when he was drunk, that Herc had sewn the bedclothes himself, that Lafayette sang when he was baking and that John’s room was the one with the fire escape, that they kept their jackets in a cardboard box and that they owned no lampshades whatsoever, but all that still didn’t actually tell him anything about the apartment itself.)  
  
At some point, John put his phone away and grinned at Alex apologetically. “Sorry that I’m on the phone all the time. Herc and Laf are pretty excited about the fact that you’re joining us tonight. Herc is worried that he hasn’t bought enough tequila and Laf asks if you’re staying the night and if he has to clean his room now. Stuff like that. Those two, I swear.” He huffed a laugh and Alex heart was aching a little. He _so_ wanted in on that friendship.   
  
The three of them were inseparable and Alex was just a wee bit jealous.  
  
“It’s fine.  But seriously. I’m not even twenty and you and Laf can’t be much older. Couldn’t Herc technically go to jail for feeding us alcohol or whatever?” he asked tentatively. He felt dumb the second the sentence left his mouth. He just wanted to say _something_ ; it wasn’t like he actually cared about underage drinking that much.  
  
But John just grinned at him wickedly, humming “Don’t tell anyone, then.” before reaching into his back pocket for his keys. Alex looked up and realized that they had already arrived at John’s apartment building, and that when he listened really closely, he could hear two pretty loud and wild voices rapping the national anthem up there, one of them sporting a heavy French accent.   
  
“Y’all are freaks.” Alex chuckled tiredly and watched John find his keys and unlock the front door.  
  
“Oh, Ham. Like you’re the one to talk. I mean, you don’t _have_ to drink if you’re being serious and it actually bothers you. I’m merely offering you an opportunity here, and-“ he interrupted himself and leaned in closer with that fucking grin still playing around his mouth, and Alex felt his stomach drop as his widened eyes automatically fell to John’s wide lips. His heart skipped a beat and then started racing.  
  
W _hat’s he gonna do? What’s he gonna do, what the fuck is happening, oh my god what the fuck’s he gonna do_ , and John leaned closer until his lips almost brushed Alex’ ear, making the other boy shiver as he chuckled, a deep, syrupy sound that seemed to go right into Alex’ body, made him grow dizzy and definitely sent some of his blood to the south. John took a breath that Alex could feel as it brushed his temple and stray curls that stuck out of the other boy’s bun tickled Alex’ chin and he felt his eyelids growing heavy. His neck was covered in goose bumps, itching with over-sensitivity and the sensation of John’s hot, wet breath on his skin driving him insane, when suddenly, the other boy opened his mouth to speak.  
  
“- Daddy doesn’t need to know.” He whispered, and Alex knew he was just quoting Angelica from when Peggy had told her older sister she had paid her expensive red lipstick out of their father’s pocket, and he also wasn’t really into the whole Daddy-kink, but still, hearing the word roll off John’s tongue this way _did_ _things_ to him, things that made him have to suppress a throaty moan.  
  
Jesus fucking _Christ_ , this had been the worst idea ever.  
  
Alex should never have said yes to this movie-marathon.  
  
He should have known better than this  
  
Being in the same room as John was like being in a room with an open fire; Alex was constantly drawn in by his radiating warmth, and he was constantly stepping too close an burning his skin on the heat.  
Keeping a crush like this secret was the sweetest and most dangerous of all games.  
  
And Alex, in playing along, had invented a new kind of stupid.  
  
He hit the ground hard when John suddenly pulled away and ripped the door open in the same, smooth movement. He grinned wickedly as he held it open and Alex shuffled past him into a beige-tiled hallway that was poorly illuminated by buzzing neon lamps and stuffed with bicycles leaning against the bottom handrail of the stairs.   
He looked around himself as the coolness of the building embraced him and John, who followed him inside and pointed his finger at the stairs, commanding cheerfully that they were _going up!_  
  
In walking up, the soles of his worn converse sneakers squeaking on the stone floor, Alex prayed that his goosebumps and the blush that was most certainly covering his neck and face would go away.   
  
John was talking continuously rambling about his favorite scenes from _The fellowship of the ring_ and poking Alex in the back whenever they reached a new floor that “ _wasn’t the one”_ yet. Alex himself growing calmer at the sound of his friend’s voice and stumbled up the narrow stairs hastily, every now and again picking up pieces of the national anthem.  
  
When he was sure there were no more floors to come – they had passed what felt like 20 floors by now and Alex was sweating buckets – John chased him up one last flight of stair, then pushed past him and screamed “French fry, Herakles, we’re home!!!”. Alex, only just letting go of the handrail, caught a faint glimpse of a blue-painted door flying open and a flash of a baggy tank top and curls, and then Lafayette was on him, caging Alex in his wide arms and laughing brightly as Alex clung to the wall to not fall back down the stairs.  
  
“Ah, mes amis! What took you so long? Herc and I already drank half the wine!” He giggled, his voice slurry, and Alex, his face pressed into Laf’s armpit, pulled a face.  
  
“Eww, you stink like sweat and happiness and making out, get off me!” he snorted as he wrenched out of Laf’s grasp with a grin and turned to face John and Herc at the door.  
  
Herc was supporting himself on the doorframe and grinning stupidly.   
“He smells like _making out_? I think he smells like I just kicked his ass at our new _Who lasts longer when given a handjob and having to rap the national anthem at the same time_ -game, don’t you?”  
  
Alex looked at John questioningly, who shrugged with a light-hearted smile, mouthing something like _friends with benefits_. Alex nodded indistinguishably and let himself be dragged towards the door by Laf and then shoved against a wall when the other boy swayed on his feet.  
  
“You two lovebirds can join in, if you want. I believe it would be quite fascinating to see Alexander here moan ‘ _Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave?’_ ” He slurred, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and taking a strand of Alex’ hair in between his index-finger and thumb as soon as he had found support on the wall above Alex’ head, smirking down at him. Alex noticed a huge hickey just above his collar bone.  
  
“Lord, show me how to say no to this.” Alex sighed dryly and shook his head, muttering a ‘ _gross’_ under his breath and swatting Laf’s hand away as John dove through beneath Lafayette’s arm with an exaggeratedly disgusted expression, grabbing Alex by the elbow and grinning at him apologetically as he dragged Alex towards the open apartment door.   
  
“We decline, thanks. You two _lovebirds_ should sober up, by the way, somebody has to call the pizza man and it’s not Alex because he needs an apartment tour and it’s also not me because I have anxiety issues. Get in the shower! Do it together, if you have to, but _please_. There are movies that need to be watched tonight!” He beamed at Alex and Alex smiled back as John pulled him into the welcoming warmth of their apartment.  
  
The apartment tour was quick and not very explicit; John just showed Alex to each of their separate rooms and pointed at things, said names and told a couple of anecdotes about certain pieces of furniture while Herc and Laf took ages in the shower. When they reached the living room – a small but bright room with a beige couch with brightly colored pillows, tall bookshelves that were bursting at the seams and a potted plant next to a gigantic flat-screen TV – Alex wasn’t sure if they’d stolen or bought it; both seemed possible – John dropped on the couch and crossed his arms behind his head, letting out a deep sigh as he put his feet on the couch table.  
  
“Alex?” John cracked an eye open. Alex saw him sulking from the corner of his eye.  
  
“Alex… I’m suffering and my roommates are in love and not willing to admit it because one of them is also in love with another person.”   
  
Alex frowned, wondering who John was talking about and then kept eyeing the backs of books to see if he recognized anything.   
  
“Are you ignoring me? Aleexx. Lexi, please.” John groaned, and Alex looked up from his books, throwing John an engrossed expression.   
“I wasn’t actually ignoring you, I was just reading, but now I really do feel like ignoring you. _Lexi_? You can’t be fucking serious.” He threw a thin, probably unread copy of Shakespeare’s _Macbeth_ his way.  
  
John let out a squeak and burrowed his head in a pillow as the book fell to the floor two feet away from him. They stayed silent for a while, Alex flipping through covers and John watching him furtively from the couch, the sound of the shower from the bathroom down the hallway white noise in the background.  
  
Then, suddenly, there was a louder sound that cut through the silence, and John and Alex both sat up straight simultaneously, staring at the hallway and then at each other, and John looked like he was about to burst into tears.  
  
“Adopt me.” He breathed, dropping his head back into the pillow with an annoyed sigh.  
  
“Thinking about what’s happening in that shower right now is like thinking about your parents having sex.” Alex muttered as he stood to stroll over and drape himself artfully across John's legs with an _oof_.  
  
And as if that wasn’t enough for John and his nerves, Alex snuggled up to him until they were lying side by side, and then, without hesitating placed his head on John's wide, welcoming chest, closing his eyes with a content smile.  
  
  
**"Alex? Just _what exactly_ do you think you're doing?"** John looked down at him with a half-frown and hated himself for the distrustful tone his voice was sporting. He hoped Alex wouldn't pick up on it; he was pretty sure he did, though.   
He always did. He was the kind of person who noticed every tiny detail and memorized it so he could then reveal it and outsmart everyone in the end.   
  
It was part of what John liked, no, _loved_ about him.   
  
And that realization struck John like a heavy rock falling on his chest, pressing all the air out of his lungs and leaving him unable to catch his breath for a second.  
  
_I love him.  
_  
_Alexander Hamilton has his fucking head on my chest. And I love him.  
_  
Alex didn’t seem to notice how John tensed beneath him; he didn't even bother to open his eyes all the way, he just glanced up at John through his long lashes with a soft grin – John knew he was trying to look cute, and _damn_ , he was succeeding – and then closed them again, humming happily.  
  
"Demanding your full attention, Laurens, you dipshit." He murmured, burrowing even deeper into John’s chest.  
  
That was kind of true if John thought about it. He felt his heart skip a beat and Alex probably felt it, too.   
  
_I love him, how was this so hard to fucking confess to myself earlier?  
_  
He couldn’t be here anymore, where his best friends were moaning in the shower and the couch wasn’t as soft as the press of Alex’ head against his chest.   
  
John _needed_ to get out of here.  
  
So he started poking Alex' shoulder.  
  
"Umm. Yeah. Alex? Could you... maybe? I-I'm going to pick up the pizza and... I should probably look if there's some... um..."  
  
_I love him.  
_  
_I really love him and it's really fucking inconvenient that he looks so damn cute right now.  
_  
He cleared his tight throat and swallowed dryly. Alex was watching the motion of his Adam’s apple, chewing on his lower lip. _Here, let me do that for you._ John ripped his gaze off of Alex’ slightly chapped, pink lips and his eyes darted around the room nervously.  
  
_Relax._  
  
John hadn’t actually noticed that his lips had parted at the end of the sentence, but now he let out a shaky breath as his eyes, again, came to linger on Alex’ lips for too long.  
  
_Get your shit together.  
_  
_But I love him.  
_  
_Get some wine. Now. Tell him you need to get some wine. Tell him you need to get something, anything to get you away from him and his breath on your skin and the fucking urge to touch his lips…  
_  
“Yeah, I’mma get some of that… umm, wine that Laf was talking about, so could you, maybe…” he gestured wildly and when Alex cracked his huge, brown eyes open, frowning and John’s mind came up with the impulse of smoothing out the crease between his eyebrows, he let out a sharp sigh and, a little reluctantly pushed Alex’ head off his shoulder and padded off to the kitchen with weak knees.   
  
Alex collapsed on the couch with a yelp at the loss of John’s shoulder to lean on.   
  
John hurried to the kitchen and immediately spotted the open bottle of wine on the table. He grabbed it, found that it was only three quarters empty and leaned against the fridge to take a big gulp.  
He swallowed the bittersweet liquid with a grimace and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his t-shirt, held the heavy bottle at chest level and tried to remain calm.  
  
_I love him.  
_  
The point was that he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to laugh or cry about this. _  
  
Yeah, probably cry._   
  
Every part of his body felt like it was in flames, and Alex had only been cuddling him.   
  
Just the touch of Alex’ neck against his clothed shoulder made John shiver and come apart – he couldn’t even begin to imagine what would happen if it was more than that. How badly he’d have lost if he and Alex hadn’t declined Laf’s offer to join his friends’ weird handjob-game-  
  
John felt himself grow dizzy just at the thought of it. He lifted the bottle to his lips again and his eyes rolled back into his skull, _holy fucking shit_ , just the thought of Alex’ hand on him was enough to make his knees weak and the heat pool below the waistband of his jeans.  
  
Apparently, getting out of the living room wasn’t enough.   
  
_I need air.  
_  
He downed the last gulp of wine and placed the empty bottle in the sink, stumbling back to the living room with his head swimming, _fuck you, high blood-pressure_ , how was he already drunk from that little wine?   
  
He could see that Alex was still on the couch, his legs spread inappropriately wide – _fuck you, too, Hamilton, why are you doing this to me_ – and eyeing the room with his head hanging off the couch, upside down. John wondered for a second how he’d got into that position.  
  
“Are you leaving me?” Alex lifted his head when John staggered into the room. He sulked at him, trying and failing to get up with a stupid little giggle.  
  
_I love him and he is laying upside-down on my couch. What the fuck is my life._ John wanted to smile and cry and punch something and fucking tell it to everyone, shout it to the rooftops, let everyone hear about it, but also, again, wished for a way to kick himself in the head because _fuck you right along with the blood pressure and Alex, because why, why, why is it so hard for you to fall in love with people that aren’t lightyears out of your league?_  
  
“Yeah. No wine left, so.” John shrugged with a crooked smile and grabbed his keys off the table, swinging them around on his index finger. Alex opened his mouth to speak, but John cut him off as he was already shoving money into his wallet. “Don’t wait up.” he muttered. Alex clearly still wanted to say something, it was written all over his face, but John was already slipping on his shoes in the hall.  
  
He knocked on the bathroom door firmly and shouted something along the lines of _Imma get the pizza, Laf, I’m borrowing your jacket, keep it down a bit, y’all might wanna remember that Alex is in our living room right now,_ before  he was grabbing Laf’s bomber jacket and slamming the apartment’s front door behind himself. His weak legs carried him down the stairs and out of the building, into the blustery evening that still carried the day’s heat in its air. He threw on the jacket and rolled up the sleeves as he started walking down the sidewalk.  
  
The street was busier than before, the rush-hour having started; it was almost as busy as on that rainy day, the second time he’d met Alex and the first time they’d talked, it all seemed so long ago when really, it was barely one month. It was weird how so much could change in so little time.  
  
How the world had all but shifted on its axis. How his solar system now moved around an entirely different sun than before.  
  
Alex was consuming him.   
  
He was a forest fire and the sea, a hurricane and the ground John walked, a nature force and he was consuming John.  
  
Stumbling past bright, 24-hours grocery stores, busy bars and closed cafés, John pressed his hand to his temple and tried to catch his breath.  
  
_I love him.  
_  
He didn’t know what time it was. His head was spinning.   
  
_I love him._  
  
John didn’t exactly know where he was going. Their favorite pizzeria was only a couple of blocks away, but John didn't want to go back home.  
  
In fact, he never wanted to go home again.   
  
Not when Alex was there.   
Not now that he had come to terms with certain aspects of their friendship.  
  
What if he went home and got drunk and said things he would regret? What if he got into Alex' space? What if he crossed some line, what if Alex wouldn't want to be his friend anymore?  
  
Like John had thought before, Alex was probably just a very touch-starved individual, always searching for contact, always in need of validation. A doting guy, maybe even a bit clingy, and John was just another person he liked and wanted to impress and be close to.   
  
He wasn't into guys. John was sure about that.  
  
And even if he was. He probably didn't feel the way John did.  
  
Why _would he_?  
  
John was a breeze. And Alex was a hurricane. He was way out of his league. Like about every person John had ever liked.   
  
The point was that this, the way he felt for Alex, didn't feel like an ordinary crush. It felt like love. Actual just-let-me-stay-here-by-your-side-forever-love, the kind that didn't go away so easily.  
  
And Alex would never, ever, _ever_ feel the same.  
  
Or even worse, what if he _would_? Would that mean they couldn’t be friends anymore, that what they had was an entirely different thing? Because John was absolutely not sure if he was ready for that.   
  
Still considering his next steps, John walked past the flower shop and soon, the coffee shop. At some point, he noticed that he had already passed the pizzeria and turned around, swaying on his feet.   
  
_Shit_ , maybe it had been a little more than one quarter liter of wine. But the cool air was helping. John's breathing had finally evened out. In and out, just breathe, respira.  
  
When he arrived at the pizzeria, he ordered one pizza with extra onions for Alex, one with a ton of Olives for himself and something hot for Herc and a Hawaiian one – damn you, Lafayette what kind of masochist likes pineapples on their pizza? – and then sat down at the counter to wait.  
  
After a minute of tapping his foot against his chair, his phone dinged and John almost fell off the bar stool when he saw who the text was from.  
  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
So dude where the fuck are you and why the fuck are you taking so long  
**JLau**  
Are you drunk already where is your proper grammar  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Stfu  
I’m still upside down and startin to feel a little fuzzy  
You’re probably wondering how I got in this position lol  
**JLau  
** Control your memes you disaster with legs  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
Anyway where are you  
**JLau  
** I’m still shoppin for le pizza so  
What is it  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Yeah Laf just moaned again  
I think I heard the word Daddy   
Send hElP  
**JLau**  
Shiiit  
Those two are _on_ tonight Jesus Christ  
Makes me feel even worse for being such a pathetic relationship-less inchworm   
I’ll be home as soon as I can  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Please make it quick, inchworm of my heart  
Inchworm I’m snorting  
  
And John couldn’t help it, his face, illuminated by his phone screen split into a wide grin.  
  
_I love him.  
  
And that’s not something to cry about.  
  
_ After ten minutes that John spent playing Crossy Road on his phone, the cashier poked his arm and pushed four pizza boxes across the counter. John handed him the money for the food and a bottle of wine and tequila – luckily, the guy didn’t ask to see his ID – and then left the store, hurrying on the windy way back to the apartment.  
  
“John! Inchworm, please help me!” was the first thing he heard when he unlocked the front door to their apartment , followed by a yelp and a rumble and a shitload of bright, high-pitched laughter.  
  
“Alex?” John shouted into the apartment with a frown and put his keys and Laf’s jacket away, kicking his shoes off and lazily jogging to the living room, pizzas and bottles in his hands.  
  
Alex was on the floor in front of the couch, giggling breathlessly with his face bright red. He turned his head when John came in.   
  
“What the fuck are you doing?” John grinned at his miserable friend and put the food down on the table before kneeling next to Alex on the carpet and eyeing him.  
  
“I was upside down and somehow unable to get out of that position for like. Twenty minutes.” He hummed, pressing his eyes close and sulking while John poked his cheek with a giggle, watching the flushed skin go white and then back to red.  
  
“Are Herc and Laf still showering? Fucking hell, they’re going to ruin the water pressure for the next three weeks if they stay in there any longer. I should probably… Whoa!” he let out a surprised sound when Alex grabbed his arm and pulled.  
  
He landed next to Alex with his heart racing and his breath hitching in his throat, his shoulder so, so close to the familiar warmth of Alex’ body. The living room carpet was made of wool, scratching at John’s neck as he turned to face Alex, who was only inches away from him. He was lying on his side now, eyeing John’s face attentively with a soft smile on his lips.  
  
“You were gone pretty long. And pretty suddenly. I was about to go after you, you know.” He brought both his hands up to lay his head on them and scooted closer to John.  
  
And it felt like John was fucking inhaling him; every breath he took smelled like coffee and Alex’ subtle cologne. He felt himself grow dizzy. Alex’ eyes were so big, big and dark and _beautiful_ , and only a breath away from John, he felt like he was drowning in them.  
  
Well, he was _definitely_ down for the count.  
  
“Where have you been?” Alex said quietly, apparently ignorant to the way John’s heart had paced up and how he was practically panting into Alex’ face, and suddenly, his fingertips were brushing John’s cheek, pushing a stray strand of curls behind his ear where they belonged, and he was smiling, and all John could say was a lame, breathy “Right here.”  
  
Alex shook his head indistinguishably and that little frown was about him again, the one where his brow furrowed ever so slightly and his lips parted in a small, soundless gasp, the corners of his mouth curling up just a little bit, in an almost awestruck way.  
  
Every time he looked like this, John felt the urge to grab him by the neck, pull him in and kiss it off his pretty face.  
  
“Don’t go then.” He breathed, and leaned in just a hair, his eyes falling to John’s lips, and John felt his forearm brush against what might have been Alex’ hip, and his eyes were already fluttering shut, when suddenly, at the other end of the apartment, the bathroom door flung open and Laf and Herc were jumping down the hallway, singing the Gondor-theme enthusiastically.  
  
And Alex was the first to pull back and grin at John breathily.  
  
“Shame.” He huffed, and John, reopening his eyes quickly, thought he might just have died a little, or maybe all the way, because in _what fucking universe_ did Alexander Hamilton consider it a _shame_ that he had to pull away from _him, John fucking Laurens_ , of all people?  
  
“Hey, you two _lovebirds_ , you might wanna get up, 'cause somebody has to cut the pizza. So. Get up, Laurens.” Herc was the first to step into the living room, walking up to John and Alex on the floor and smirking down at John, who grimaced and had to use all his willpower to get to his feet, away from Alex.   
  
Alex rolled over on his back and grinned up at Herc, squealing something along the lines of “Everyone, lock up your daughters and sons, it’s Hercules Mulligan, finally deciding to come back from Lalaland to join his friends. If John starts stinking next week because you used up all the hot water then I’m suing you”. John disappeared into the kitchen, his face flushing while Laf threw him a knowing look over his shoulder.   
  
The Frenchman was at the kitchen counter, fiddling with the head of the wine bottle.  
He was cursing in French under his breath as he slid it across the counter to where John came to a halt by the fridge, staring at the handle of its door and trying to even out his breathing. “Laurens, how do you get this gold shit off?” he muttered, and John blinked.  
  
_Get. Your. Shit. Together.  
  
_ He threw his damp-haired friend a tired and crooked version of a benevolent smile and pulled off the ‘gold shit’ with the twist of one hand before opening the bottle with a corkscrew he took out of a drawer.  
  
“And you claim to be from France. Pff.” John poured Laf and himself a glass and leaned against the counter next to him, his eyes on the living room door. Herc and Alex were already happily digging through their DVD-collection on a quest for their _Lord of the Rings_ Special Extended Edition. John smiled at his friends fondly and knocked his elbow into Laf’s side.  
  
“So, you and Herc, is that a thing now?” he asked, a smirk clearly playing in his voice.  
  
Laf glanced up at him briefly before looking down, chewing on his lower lip and starting to fidget with his wine glass. “Well. We, umm… We do like each other, we are both pretty… certain that we do, but. I mean, as you know, Herc also- he likes Peggy, so… It’s kind of, um… a mess at the moment.” He murmured, nodding slowly, and John pressed his lips together in pity.  
  
It had been like this for quite a while; Laf and Peggy were both dancing around Hercules, poking at him, liking him, maybe even loving him, but none of them ever actually willing to reach out and claim him as theirs. Maybe it was because they didn’t want to destroy their own friendship, or it was simply because they were equally shy, but John knew it was eating away at their friendship and Lafayette’s heart.   
  
Laf was such a kind, soft soul, and John was pretty sure that if Herc did decide to get together with Peggy at some point, he was going to let them.   
Laf would stand by and watch if that meant Herc and Peggy got to be happy, even if it broke his own heart in the process.  
  
John didn't know what he could do to comfort his friend. He wasn't familiar with the situation, so he just tried to smile at him encouragingly. "I think he likes you. And that's all that matters, after all, right? He'll make a decision at some point. And then one of you will just have to deal with it. We can open a lonely hearts club if it doesn't go your way, though. It's kind of a mess with me right now, too." he said, and Laf looked up at him, smiling a crooked smile, his big doe eyes rimmed by just a bit of red that John wouldn't have noticed if he didn't know Laf as well as he did.   
  
"Thanks. But I'll stop whining. I'm sure it'll all work out just fine. Besides, there is way more interesting news, am I right? What about you and-" John cut Laf off with a hard shove to his shoulder and panic in his eyes. Wine sloshed out of Laf's glass and on his hand as he broke into a heavy laughing fit.  
  
"Shut _up_!" he hissed. Laf wiped at his eyes, still giggling breathily. "Ah, mon cœur John, I'm sorry for asking. You pretty much just answered my question, anyway, so."  
  
John's response was a deep blush and multiple punches to Lafayette's upper arm until Herc called for the Frenchman from the living room and Laf shot John one last knowing smirk before grabbing the wine bottle, shouting "Be right there!" and shuffling past John to the living room, leaving John with bright red face and a pair of scissors to cut the pizza.  
  
That, he did, while the other two told Alex the rules to their drinking game. When he was finished with the pizza, the other three were already whispering along to Cate Blanchett's opening monologue. He carried the boxes to the living room where Herc and Laf were on the couch and Alex sat on the floor, cocooned in a blanket and smiling widely, back against the couch. Laf was lazily braiding his hair into little piggy tails and Herc was preparing shots on the couch table, his shoulder brushing Laf's every time he bent forward to fill a glass.  
  
It was a sight so grossly domestic that all John wanted to do was drop the pizzas and run towards his friends with his arms stretched out, sobbing wetly.  
  
Instead of doing that, though, he sat down next to Alex on the thick carpet even though Herc and Laf had left plenty of room for him on the couch and offered him his pizza with a shy grin.  
  
In return, Alex offered him half the blanket and a small, warm head planted on his shoulder throughout the entire movie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hurt me.
> 
>  
> 
> Translations: Um this is kind of irrelevant but here we go anyway  
> "mes amis"  
> ~ my friends  
> "mon cœur"  
> ~ my dear (Basically. I don't speak any french whatsoever.)
> 
> For the Lotr nerds among my readers, here are the rules to the drinking game these weirdos play:  
> Take a shot every time...  
> ... Sam says 'Mr. Frodo'  
> ... Pippin does something stupid  
> ... someone insults Gandalf  
> ... Frodo says the word 'burden'  
> ... the bravery of Hobbits is mentioned  
> ... something is racist  
> ... you get the feeling Legolas should run out of arrows but doesn't  
> ... Arwen and Aragorn kiss (eww)  
> ... someone tells an old legend, preferably Legolas  
> ... Frodo screams  
> ... someone screams 'Frodo!'  
> ... the ring is mentioned  
> ... Gollum says 'Gollum!'  
> ... you thirst after someone
> 
> (Don't try this at home kids.)
> 
> CoMmENts or kUdOs or REaLLy anYthING mAk Es mE sO HApPY  
> Anyway. I'll see you in two weeks!!


	6. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is hungover and really confused because of their feelings for certain other people but there is still a lot of work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Marlene, it's only been a week since the last time you chose to annoy everyone with another chapter of your fanfiction why are you already back?' or some stuff like that, and I don't know why. I don't have school at the moment so I finshed this piece of shi-*coughs* umm art a little earlier than usually, and I just really felt like uploading something today. So. Please don't hate me this whole fic just keeps getting more and more problematic.

  
  
**Alex awoke the next morning with a pounding in his head.**  
  
He cracked his heavy eyelids open with a throaty groan and practically hissed when the grey light of this early Wednesday stung in his eyes.  
  
“Shit. He breathed, addressing no one in particular before yawning quietly into his pillow. He looked around himself and it took him a moment to recognize John’s living room, and the person he was sharing his red blanket with.  
  
Oh.  
  
_Oh_.  
  
John was sleeping on his stomach, his mane of dark, wild curls sprawled across the pillow beneath his head, wearing the same oversized white t-shirt as yesterday that left his neck and shoulders uncovered.  
The thing had also slid up, how Alex noticed.  
  
And _my god._  
  
Alex’ sleep-deprived, hungover mind was caught off guard by so much of John’s tan skin exposed. It was smooth, soft, so _smooth_ , damn, so many freckles. Like _, so many_.  
He couldn’t hold back a small, soundless gasp.  
  
A not so small, curious and probably suicidal voice in the back of his head told him to touch the skin and muscle of John’s back and let his fingertips follow the curve of his spine all the way down where it ended below the waistband of his black skinny jeans.    
  
He looked _really_ good in those. But, well, it was John after all. He looked good in practically everything. Could make a goddamn trash bag work. Or one of those cropped tops.  
  
_Oh shit, don’t imagine John in a cropped top right now, Alex. Please get a grip._  
_Anyway, has he slept in those Jeans? What the hell happened yesterday?  
  
What happened yesterday that I’m sleeping next to him, anyway?  
  
_ Alex rolled on his back and looked around himself, squinting. His head was heavy, felt sort of like it was too large for the rest of his body, and now he finally spotted a few reasons why.  
  
Multiple empty tequila and wine bottles on the floor and couch table, getting mixed up with several glasses and pizza boxes, and Lafayette was snoring quietly on the couch, asleep in Hercules’ arms.  
  
Alex wanted to smile at the sight of the two of them but found himself unable to. His face felt sort of numb.  
  
He really wanted to find out why he was feeling like this, and _why the fuck_ John’s hand was so close to his pillow, but yesterday evening was kind of a blur.  
  
Alex vaguely remembered watching _Lord of the Rings_ with the other three and every two seconds somebody shouting ‘Shot!’ followed by collective groaning and the emptying of tiny glasses. He also remembered that the two on the couch abandoned the drinking game by the time Laf fell asleep on top of Herc halfway into _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , but he and John had kept going until Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had arrived in Edoras in _The two towers,_ taking shot after shot and promising each other to last at least until Helm’s deep.  
  
  
At some point, John dropped himself against Alex’ shoulder with his eyes fluttering shut until he ripped them open over and over again. “Baby girl…” he had slurred, and when Alex really concentrated, he remembered pulling John into a tight, tingling hug and trying not to vomit all over him as he murmured back “You could have been casted for this movie. You’re pretty enough. I love your hair.” Before sliding his hand into John’s curls with drunk curiosity.  
  
They weren’t as soft as he’d imagined; thick and strong and reluctant and wild, and that was even better than soft, Alex decided. The feeling of John’s curls was still lingering beneath his fingertips now, and Alex wished nothing more than to feel it again, maybe sober this time.   
  
He glanced at John and his loose hair next to him but decided not to do it.  
  
Maybe another time.  
  
“I love yours too. And shiiiit, your eyes, Ham. They’re like, real pretty. I could just stare at them forever.” was John’s response. Alex felt his stomach curl together in happiness and excitement just thinking about it.  
  
He recalled a breathless, stupid giggle. “Your freckles. Your freckles, John. All of them, everywhere. I wish I could kiss them all.” He had probably started laying pecks on John’s neck then.  
He let out another quiet groan and brought his arms up to his face, hiding in the crooks of his elbows and blushing in embarrassment of his drunk self.  
  
After a while of them just slurring compliments, John jerked away, muttering that he was _honestly about to pass out_. Alex vaguely recalled dragging two pillows from the couch to the floor but had failed to get a second blanket, so his 5am drunk-off-my-ass mind had decided that they were friends.   
  
And that it was absolutely acceptable for friends to share a blanket.   
  
Friends could fall asleep mindlessly touching each other’s hands, holding on to them and pointing out how aesthetically exquisite they both were before going to whispering each other’s names  with awestruck expressions.  
  
Friends could do all kinds of stuff.  
_Spoon_ , for example. They could spoon and they could hold hands just like everyone else did.  
  
They could do everything they wanted to. They could do all kinds of _friendship… stuff_.  
  
Alex buried his face in his hands and wanted to set himself on fire.  
  
_Friends.  
  
Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, Hamilton.  
  
_ When he decided that too many details of the evening were returning, Alex wiped his face with his palms with a quiet, weak moan, yawning once more before sliding what little of the blanket John had left him off of his legs and attempting to get up.  
  
After about five failed attempts, Alex finally succeeded and, swaying a little on his feet with his heart racing and his brain pounding against his skull from the inside of his head, looking down on his body.  
  
Yes, he was still wearing yesterday’s black jeans and embarrassing, washed out _Star Wars_ t-shirt. _God,_ had he really been wearing _that_ old thing to his maybe-maybe-not-date with John yesterday? _Jesus_.  
He knew John liked _Star Wars_ just as much as he did, but still, he looked like a twelve-year-old.  
  
He _needed_ to upgrade his wardrobe.  
  
Also, when was the last time he’d take a shower?  
  
He smelled on his sleeve and grimaced, feeling a wave of disgust rush him. When he tried to think of the period of time between him and his last shower, the headache got worse, so he decided to just ask John if he could maybe take a shower here later and now get some coffee.  
  
He grabbed his phone out of his discarded backpack on the floor and, shooting his sleeping friends one last look, shuffled along to the kitchen, yawning once more, the quest of finding coffee in mind.  
  
He didn't have to look long; there was an old-looking coffee machine on the counter next to the fridge that was covered in brightly colored letter-magnets, forming the words 'Laurens is a lil shit' and notes, shopping lists and reminders and doodles, captioned in John's slightly sloppy handwriting. After opening a couple of cupboards Alex found a big red 'World's best Dad' cup - who did that belong to? - and put it into the coffee machine. He leaned against the counter and waited for the thing to start purring quietly. He put his hands over his ears to shut the noise out.   
  
There was a clock on the kitchen wall - next to a spray painted turtle, apparently, that hadn't been a myth. It was 8:45am, maybe he would visit Rachel in the afternoon. Or tomorrow; the pounding beneath the skin of his temples said tomorrow. He unlocked his phone and sent a quick text to her room phone, something along the lines of _'Hey, mom! I'm not coming to visit today, I'm helping John and the guys with something. I hope you don't mind, I'm definitely coming tomorrow. Love you, just keep pushing trough!_ ' and then took the full cup out of the machine, blowing on the hot liquid as he tiptoed back into the bright living room, cup in hand.  
  
His friends were still asleep, and it was such a peaceful sight that Alex just didn’t want to disturb it. Instead he decided to have a proper look at the apartment he had spent the night in.  
  
Alex vaguely remembered that the first door on the left side of the hallway was Laf's room. It wasn't closed all the way, pale light pooling through the crack and onto Alex' bare feet as he pushed it open and had a look inside.   
The majority of the room was taken up by an iron-framed bed with sheets carrying the colors of the French flag. Alex smiled to himself, taking a careful sip of his coffee and curiously eyeing the shelfless, tall stacks of books in the far corner of the room, the unlit fairy lights that Laf had woven around the headboard of his bed and the small-leaved plant on the sill of the big window that looked out onto the next building across the street. Alex spotted a couple of framed photographs on the wall; the high wall of a house in a shady, ivy covered backyard with a pretty, smiling young woman with short, brown hair leaning out of a window in the second floor, the view of an apartment window looking out over Parisian rooftops and to the Eiffel tower in the distance. Alex decided to ask Laf about France some time; he seemed to actually miss it a lot.   
  
The next room was Herc's, and Alex didn't dare to step into it because the entire floor, the wide desk and even the sleep-couch in the corner were covered in tidy stacks of paper; sketches and hastily colored drawings, mostly of robes and suits and other clothing. Alex let out a breathy laugh as he kneeled on the floor, setting his cup aside to pick one up. The portrayed dress was a pale yellow thing with pearl buttons and flowed down to just above the girl's knees, and Alex spotted a small, hastily written 'Peggy for Philip's gala in May' in the bottom corner of the paper. He had known that Herc liked to design and sew every now and then, but he hadn't known that he did it this excessively. That he made dresses for his friends for galas and that he had his own dress form next to a stereo by the wall, but now that he did, he felt a wave of pride rush him.  
  
He really had the most incredible friends.  
  
He gently shut the door to Herc's room again and held his cup at chest level as he padded on. The third and last door in the narrow hallway was John’s. Alex would have recognized it even if he hadn’t already known, since there was another one of John’s trademark flat turtles spray-painted on it. He unconsciously gripped his mug a little tighter as he pushed it open.  
  
John’s room was cool, smelled a faint bit of his subtle cologne, vanilla and paint. The space was mostly occupied by three stacked matrasses without a bedframe – that was probably supposed to be a bed, it looked sort of archaic, but very _John_ – and a gigantic, overflowing bookshelf that was also home to a bright green climbing plant. The thing made of dark wood stood so close to the bed that you could probably only crawl into it from the bottom end. All different from Laf’s, John’s bed only had one pillow and blanket – Laf’s was a damn blanket fort in comparison to it – that were both dressed in plain blue sheets. There were pictures and a Nirvana poster hung on the whitewashed walls. Alex also noticed drawings, and he frowned curiously, stepping closer to the wall to get a better look at them and found himself inhaling sharply because-  
  
They were _beautiful_.  
  
Beautiful and vivid and drawn with what seemed like the deepest devotion, full of details and love and _realness_.   
  
Had John drawn these? He let out a breathy, fond laugh and closed both his hands around the cup.  
  
He recognized a lot of it; there were a lot of portraits of their friends, in the flower shop, at a beach, moving into apartments, a framed view of the coffee shop with Laf and Herc hugging and grinning happily and lots, lots of flowers and bouquets.   
  
Alex couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps John had ever drawn him this way; the thought of it made him shiver.   
He probably had. _Oh god_.   
  
He shook the thought out of his head with another sip of coffee and kept looking at the drawings instead, even though it almost made him a bit uncomfortable to look at them. It seemed too intimate, like walking into a stranger’s room in college dormitories, or like reading someone else’s diary, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.   
The pictures were simply stunningly, addictively beautiful, drawing him in and leaving him longing and wishing to have been in the moment they were made.  
  
He could see it now. Stealing glances at John from the corner of his eye while he was drawing Peggy’s portrait in the coffee shop, or leaning over his shoulder and smiling at the sketchpad in his lap while Herc and Laf painted the living room walls like in that one picture over there.  
  
 Suddenly, a voice, slurry with sleep and its source evidently wearing a wide smirk sounded from the door and Alex almost dropped his coffee cup.   
  
“There you are. Good morning, Baby Girl.”  
  
Alex ignored the nickname the best he could and turned around abruptly, which made his head hurt like crazy. He found himself face to face with John, leaning against the doorway with his hair falling loosely and wildly around his face and _yup_ , he was smirking. And he was trying to keep that smirk up even while yawning. Which just looked adorable.  
  
“Aww. Rough night?” Alex tried to make it sound like teasing, but he didn’t really put enough mocking into it, so now it just kind of seemed like he actually pitied John.  
  
John shrugged, grimacing. “You could say that. What are you doing in my room? Also, nice cup you chose there.” His grimace quickly turned back into a grin as he buried his hand in his hair, making his curls dance and Alex’ heart pace up and his lips part in a quiet gasp.   
  
_He looks like a fucking sex god, dammit.  
  
_ John watched him, a slightly amused frown now playing with his features. “What?” he asked, chuckling insecurely. Alex blinked and gritted his teeth. _Get a grip, Hamilton.  
  
_ “Soumyeah, uh, where did y’all get this cup from?” He stammered, tripping over the beginning of his sentence, and John stepped into the room, leaning against the wall next to the door now. _Stop leaning, you look illegally hot when you do that. Uh, your hair looks so soft, oh my God._  
  
“I bought it for Herc. Um, not because… you know, but because he’s such a Dad-friend.” He gestured vaguely at nothing in particular and grinned, _still_ , _oh god stop grinning or I’m going to have to kiss that grin off your face._  
  
Alex cleared his throat and pointed at the wall and the drawings, trying to find his way back into the conversation. “Did. Um. Did you make these?”  
  
He watched John blush and step even further into the room, walking to his closet and pulling a drawer open. He nodded, smiling at Alex over his shoulder shyly. Alex was in awe about the different parts of his personality.  
  
“Yeah. I mean. Yes, I did. They’re not good, or anything, nothing special, it’s just… Well. It’s just what I do, you know.” He blushed even harder and dug a washed out, blue t-shirt out of the drawer, which led to about a dozen t-shirts jumping out along with it. John cursed under his breath and shoved them back into the drawer, turning around to face Alex and his dumbfounded expression again, his face bright red.   
They sort of just stared at each other for a moment until John breathed a broken “What?” and Alex just shook his head in disbelief.  
  
“Are you kidding me? Don’t tell me that _you_ , John Laurens, the queen of telling people to go fuck themselves are insecure about your art? I mean, look at them! Look at _you_! These are the best drawings I have ever seen in my life. They’re _amazing_. You’re amazing.” He smiled at John widely, and there was another moment of silence as John just blushed deeper and deeper, staring at his bare feet before scoffing.   
And suddenly, Alex remembered another part of yesterday's evening, the part just before Herc and Laf had come out of the shower. The part where he and John were on the living room floor, their arms and legs and hips and breath touching, and John had these cute, puffy apple cheeks from the cold air outside, and Alex felt a little dizzy and giggly, like he was stoned, even though he'd only been upside down for a while – okay, 20 minutes wasn't a while, but that wasn't the point.   
  
The point was that awestruck way John had stared at him, eyes shiny and wide and almost loving, and the way his hair was all over the place, and the way his skin was cool beneath Alex' hot fingertips, and the way Alex had looked at his perfect, slightly chapped lips and decided to throw everything aside, all his restraint and fear and dignity, and leaned in.  
  
What was even more important, though, was that John hadn't resisted. He had closed his eyes. He hadn't pushed Alex away.  
  
And then, Alex had heard the bathroom door open and he had pulled back out of instinct, wanting to scream because he didn’t even get to feel John’s lips on his yet, he didn’t even get what he wanted, he had tried to kiss him and he could have, it could have happened, but now he was pulling away even though every cell, every nerve in his body was telling him not to.    
  
“Your _mum’s_ amazing, you dipshit. So, you need some clothes?” John suddenly asked, and he was tossing Alex the blue t-shirt, a pair of dark jeans with a probably unintentional hole at the left knee and a pair of the cutest, softest turtle-patterned socks. Alex was thrown right back into reality as he tried not to panic because he was going to wear John’s clothes and caught them mid-air. A soon as he did, he started cooing. "Oh gosh, these are the sweetest thing of all, Laurens." he whispered, smiling fondly at the clothes in his arms and then looking up just in time to see John pull his t-shirt off.  
  
_Oh shit.  
  
_ Alex was met with square miles of tan, delicate skin that was inch per inch covered in freckles, working shoulder muscles as John dug through the drawer, shoulder blades and now he was turning a little, wriggling into the red-and-white striped t-shirt he'd picked, and Alex was _so screwed_. God, John was _beautiful_.  
  
There was a strong, freckled chest and collar bones, pink nipples and abs and _so many freckles_ and just the right amount of chub on John's hipbones, making them look soft, hesitant and boyish, and Alex didn't want to stare but he couldn't help himself.  
  
He finally managed to shut his mouth when John had covered himself in the t-shirt, turning around all the way and grabbing a hairband out of a small space in the bookshelf to put his hair up into a messy bun.  
  
"Um. What I wanted to ask you is if I could maybe take a shower? I feel super gross right now, and I won't have to go home this way before joining you guys at the store." he asked, trying to suppress the shaking in his voice. John just shrugged, apparently ignorant to the emotional trauma he'd just caused Alex by changing his shirt in front of him.   
"Yeah, sure. You can use my shower gel, it's the big vanilla one. Towels are under the sink. Come to the kitchen when you're done, there should be enough Froot Loops left for the two of us, I suggest we eat them before Herc and Laf wake up. I'll be waiting with aspirin and coffee." he smiled at Alex briefly one last time before he disappeared into the hallway.  
  
Alex went to the bathroom and locked the door behind himself, flicking the lights and placing John's clothes on the toilet seat. He undressed and got himself a towel, stepping into the shower and reveling in the absolutely _amazing_ water pressure for the next ten minutes, before drying himself off, putting his hair into a towel turban and putting on John's oversized, unfamiliar, soft clothes. He let himself be excited about the fact that he smelled like John for a second before unlocking the bathroom door and shuffling back to the living room where he buried yesterday's clothes deeply in his backpack.   
  
John was at the kitchen counter, pouring milk into a bowl of Froot Loops and humming a song from _Steven Universe_ quietly, an incredibly cute cartoon he'd showed Alex last weekend.  
Alex joined him, smiling sweetly with his hands buried in the pockets of the borrowed jeans. "Hey." he said quietly, grabbing the half empty red 'Best Dad' coffee cup that John must have taken back from his room off the counter and washing down one of the white pills his friend had already gotten out of the painkiller-bottle, grimacing. John looked up, smiled and let his eyes roam over Alex' body for a second, before looking back down at his cereal and muttering "Lookin' good." with a shy grin and the tips of his ears going pink.  
  
"Feelin' good!" Alex responded quietly and accepted the other bowl when John held it out to him. They stood at the counter, chewing on their cereal until John's continuous, wide grin turned into breathy laughter. He pressed his hand over his mouth but found himself unable to stop.  
  
"What?" Alex lifted his hands defensively and dropped his spoon into his bowl, grinning with a half-frown.  
  
John just shook his head and looked at him fondly, his eyes wide. "I don't know, it's just... you smell like me. It's weird. You're also wearing my clothes, that's a bit weird, too."  
  
Alex felt his smile faint. "I... I could take them off, if that made you more comfortable."  
  
John gaped at him for a second before bursting into laughter. Alex' eyes widened in shock as he realized what he'd just said. He felt himself flushing as he tried to hide his face in the 'Best Dad' cup, opening his mouth multiple times to speak but never quite finding words until John just wagged his hand dismissively. "It's okay, Baby Girl, I know what you mean, and no. _No_ , it's fine, just a bit... weird, like I said. I'm not used to people wearing my clothes, that's all. But you can keep them on. They suit you."  
  
They smiled at each other silently for a moment. It was a comfortable silence, the kind that belonged into mornings of waking up together with a hangover and hastily sharing the last cereal before the hungry roommates woke up. Which they did, about fifteen minutes later, when John finally decided to wake them because they had to get to work soon.   
Eliza had texted John, saying she was in sick today, which meant they weren't opening the flower shop, but Maria was staying at home to take care of her, too, so they were welcome to help Laf and Peggy manage the coffee shop. Laf, still incredibly tired, sent John and Alex to the coffee shop to _see if they could work that shit out_ , saying he was also sick, which he then confirmed by puking into the kitchen sink. Herc volunteered to stay with Laf, and so John and Alex were more than eager to leave the apartment that smelled a faint bit of vomit now and get on their way to the coffee shop.  
  
Peggy looked at the two slightly sleep-deprived and hungover boys when they came into the empty shop, tilting her head to the side. "So, you two are supposed to be my backup for the day? Was that Laf's decision, because I think it's hella dumb, you two can't even tell the difference between espresso and mocca. This is just _pathetic_. Why is everyone always sick on Wednesdays? This is still Lafayette's shop, right?" When Alex and John just looked at her, John not able to hold back a yawn, Peggy let out a small, desperate sigh and tossed two blue aprons at them.  
  
"Hamilton, tie your hair up! Congratulations, you two are baristas now. Let's get to work."  
  
After John had wiped down the tables and painted a new sign (' _Qu'est-ce qu' un strawberry-frappe-cream-latte? How about y'all come in and find out? Free chocolate cookies today!'_   in ornate writing next to a cup that's steam formed a pink heart) to put outside the door and  Peggy had taught Alex how to work the coffee machine and register, a task Alex hadn't known the difficulty of, they opened the shop at 9am and customers came and went or stayed a while to have breakfast. Peggy was in the back baking cookies the whole time until noon, while John and Alex threw the entire morning shift alone, and actually managed it pretty well.   
The whole thing had this even, tidy routine, how Alex noticed. The only thing you had to do was ask for orders and names, type the drinks into the register and write the names on the cups, push a couple of buttons on the shiny, gigantic coffee machine and put a lid on the cup, then get paid and repeat.  
  
It was easy. It was consistent. He liked that, he could get used to that.  
  
He could also get used to doing this with John. There were two coffee machines, one managed by John and one by himself and whenever they made drinks at the same time, John would smile at him sweetly, and Alex would smile back. Sometimes when reaching for a new cup, their hands would brush, sometimes, their hands would linger for a little too long.   
It was a grey day without rain, but still cold. It was warmer than outside in the shop, and John's t-shirt and John's looks were so soft. Alex wished he could actually work here, work like this, with Peggy and John every day; he also wished he could work in the flower shop, preferably _soon_ , but he still wasn't completely sure if he was staying in New York, and he didn't want to get in over his head.  
  
_Just enjoy all this while it lasts._  
  
Angelica showed up at some point, asking them _where the fuck everybody was_ as Alex made her Americano and prepared her bagel.   
"Laf puked all over the kitchen this morning, so that's where he and Herc are, they're probably still sleeping. Or Herc is reading to Laf, or they're watching cartoons or something. And Lizzy's home with Maria, I mean, you probably know about them, anyway. Jefferson: still in Paris. Madison: probably at home texting him. But Mads usually shows up around noon, so he should be here soon. Does that guy actually do anything but sit in this place and text his boyfriend? I just hope Jefferson comes back soon so the poor, newly antisocial guy can actually talk to someone again." John shook his head while covering a cup for a guy in a three-piece suit in an extremely detailed doodle of a biro.   
  
Alex had noticed that before; John didn't write names on the cups like he did, he doodled things. Flowers or sunrises or turtles or hearts or, in this case, a biro. Alex thought it was adorable.   
  
Angelica frowned when Alex pushed her cup and sandwich bag across the counter, grabbing them and checking the time on her phone. "You shouldn't talk about him like that, Laurens. He goes to university. He talks to people. He talks to me. You can't really blame him for the fact that you guys are insufferable and he therefor chose to not interact with you." She shrugged, shaking a bag of sugar into her coffee.  
  
John stuffed the money the biro-guy had given him into the register and then leaned across the counter in a swift moment, eyeing Angelica with a suspicious frown. "You talk to each other?" he asked curiously, and Angelica nodded with a slightly irritated expression. "Yeah, in fact, we do talk in class quite a lot. He's majoring in law and I'm majoring in medicine, but we go to the same literature history class, so we meet all the time. Besides, Thomas told us he's coming back soon, didn't you hear?" Another sugar followed the first one, then Angelica took a plastic spoon and started stirring her coffee, leaning against the counter. Alex couldn't quite focus on John's reply, since he was sort of _preoccupied_ with the fact that John was so close to him right now that he could actually see the heave of his chest with every breath he took.  
  
"Well, we obviously didn't, since neither Madison nor you ever talk to us. But whatever. He better come back soon. I can't wait to yell at him for disappearing for so long." John pushed himself off of the counter again, and Angelica just shook her head, throwing John an amused look before dropping ten dollars on the counter and shouting "Keep the change, you guys!" before turning on her heel and walking to the door. John leaned against the glass cookie case on the counter and grinned after her, shaking his head.  
  
"She scares me a little. How can someone be so smart? She's a bit like you."  
  
Alex whipped his head around, his eyebrows shooting up. "Like me? Really, John? She isn't _anything_ like me. Angelica is like, _way_ smarter than me. I mean, she's just this perfect fusion of anything good from Ravenclaw and anything good from Slytherin, you know. She's fierce and quick-witted and cunning and incredibly intelligent, and unlike me, she never loses her temper, except if someone is trying to hurt Eliza or Peggy. She's like some kind of mean Yoda. If we ever rap-battled about something, she would burn me alive."  
  
John grinned at him widely, remaining quiet for a moment before huffing a laugh. "You _like_ her, don't you?" he slurred, and Alex thought he might have died right then and there. Him? _Him_ and Angelica Schuyler? That was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard, she was _way_ out of his league.  
  
"Oh, damn, you caught me. It's because I called her Yoda, isn't it? That gave me away, am I right? Oh, damn. I should have said Gandalf, then. What the _hell_ , John? No, I don't _like_ her, what is that even supposed to mean, what are you, twelve? I don't have a crush on her, if that's what you mean. I'd call it a... terrified kind of mutual admiration and adoration." He threw the register shut and glared at John, who was still smirking.  
  
"Did you just say adoration? My god, Hamilton. You're _obvious_. Even I can tell you like her, and I'm gay as fuck." John shook his head with another huffed laugh. Alex knew he was just teasing him by now, but he also felt like he had just been struck by lightning.   
  
_Gay as fuck? Did he just actually say that?  
_  
There was a slightly uncomfortable stretch of silence, the hum of the customer's conversation the only sound filling it, while John's eyes darted around the room nervously. Alex tried to figure out what to say, because his head was spinning, because _oh my god he just told me he's gay and I'm bi and that means I stand a chance and holy shit I have to say something otherwise he will think I think it's weird, shit, what do I say-  
  
_ "You never told me you were gay." he blurted out. John cocked an eyebrow at him, fidgeting with the sugar wrappers that Angelica had left on the counter. "Umm. Yeah I did? On the day of my interview, in the flower shop I told you I was that, how was it? That little Latino-bastard disappointment, that stain of dirt on my father's white- _straight_ -male-politician-image, that kind of... I mean... it might have been a little... well, misunderstandable, but I did tell you. Why, do you mind?" The way he looked at Alex with wide eyes, frantically searching his face for some trace of disgust or fear or just plain hate, some sign that he was going to run away or something almost made Alex cry. He was _so_ scared. So anxious that Alex would leave him now that he knew, and all Alex wanted to do was grab both his friend's shoulders and shake him and yell _'Mother of God, no, John, no I don't mind, on the contrary, I want to kiss you right now because this means I am not that much of a pathetic mess as I thought I am for being in love with you!"  
_  
Instead, he shook his head quickly, moving in closer to grab John's hand without thinking about it, squeezing it tight and huffing a laugh. "No! _No_ , I don't mind at all, man, why would I? You're my _friend_ , John, I love you just the way you are. Besides, I'm bi myself. "  
  
John laughed in relief when Alex let go of his hand. His left was still refusing to let go of Angelica's sugar wrappers. "Oh. Oh, okay. I thought you were going to... like... freak out for a second, but you didn't. God, what am I even saying? Never mind."  
  
Alex joined in his friend's laughter, his head light and his heart fluttering and his knees weak. He had to hold on to the counter's edge now because he felt like they were going to give in and his head started spinning like this morning. _Damn. This is... well. Actually, this is pretty good news isn't it?  
  
_ He could still remember that evening after realizing John had given him his phone number. How he couldn't stop thinking about him, and about this whole mess. If John liked him, Alex still didn't know, but this at least meant that _he could_. It wasn't entirely impossible, and maybe it was just from laughing so hard, but Alex felt his eyes water a little.  
  
At some point, John recollected himself when he noticed that some customers had started staring at the two of them. He wiped at his eyes and held his stomach.   
"Jesus. What a mess." he huffed, and Alex, even though he wasn't even quite sure what John was talking about, smiled and nodded in agreement because _yes, what a mess._ _What a mess this whole thing is. How messed up it is that I'm so in love with you that every time I see you, my heart does that pathetic little jumpy thing that I hate so much when it happens in books. How messed up that I'm in love with you and not having a breakdown because of it like I probably should be. How messed up it is that I constantly just want to tell you how much I love you but how I'm simply too afraid to do so.  
  
_ Suddenly, a girl's voice came from across the counter, and both John and Alex' head shot up. "Umm, excuse me? I'm sorry to interrupt, but could I get a green smoothie to go, please?"   
  
Alex nodded with an engaging smile. "Of course, it's only going to take one second. Tell me your name?" he said, grabbing a plastic cup and a sharpie. John threw Alex one last wide, happy grin, before returning to his own part of the counter.  
  
And so they went on with their day.   
  
Peggy joined them at some point, filling the glass case on the counter with still warm, soft chocolate cookies and pastel colored cake pops and then sitting down on the counter and starting to sing a duet about the not-throwing-away of espresso shots and pissed turtles with John and Alex – some customers even applauded.   
  
Madison (and his phone and his stupid grin) and Herc – who informed the incredibly worried John and Alex that Laf hadn’t puked again but had been asleep since they left – showed up around noon, noisily entering the already noisy shop – cold days were good for the shop's turnover – and eating at least three of Peggy's chocolate cookies each. John and Alex joined them for a while, trying to get some details about his relationship with Thomas out of Madison until Herc offered the poor guy to come back home to their apartment with him until he had class in the afternoon. They left again at 2pm. John, Alex and Peggy kept working, joking around and taking turns with the singing now. Peggy was making new bagels and sandwiches on the table behind the counter while the boys actually got better at mixing drinks over the day.   
  
They closed the shop up at 6pm and made themselves a coffee each.   
It was already dark outside but warm and despite the strangely soothing rumble of the dishwasher quiet in the shop. Alex and Peggy sat on the counter; speaking in quiet, exhausted but satisfied voices and sipping their drinks, watching John wipe down the tables like in the morning and the people on the sidewalk outside pass.  
  
“Today was a cool day, guys, thanks. I wish you two worked here with me instead of Maria and Laf, to be honest. Don’t get me wrong, I really like them, especially Laf, but they’re constantly picking on me just because I’m the youngest.” Peggy said into the comfortable silence, smiling at John and Alex briefly before looking at her dinging phone. Her smile deepened.  
  
John threw the rag into the sink behind the counter and then leaned across it in between Alex and Peggy, trying to get a look at the screen. “Who’s texting you?” he asked curiously, and Peggy blushed hard, swatting his head away with a flustered look. “No one. Lizzy.”  
  
Alex knew who she had been texting. He’d seen the name ‘Herakles’, so it was probably Herc, but he knew John wouldn’t leave poor Peggy alone about it if he told John now how many heart emojis had been involved in the conversation.  
  
“It was Lizzy, I saw it.” He lied, jumping off the counter and throwing his empty cup in the trash. When he turned around, Peggy mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ and he winked at her. John looked from Peggy to Alex and back, then pushed himself off of the counter, sulking. "Nobody ever tells me shit." he muttered then grabbed his backpack and jacket from beneath the counter, throwing both on. "You guys are cleaning the back, right? I gotta get going."  
  
Peggy nodded when Alex didn't say anything. He was a bit caught off guard by that. He hadn't actually realized he was going to return to his own apartment today; some part of his mind had irrationally assumed that he'd be sleeping at John's again. _Well, what did you expect, dummy? It's not like you live there. It's not like he's your boyfriend.  
_  
He tried not to look disappointed as he shrugged. "Sure. Are y'all opening again tomorrow? I gotta get some new flowers for my mom." he asked while John high-fived Peggy and then stepped closer to him, pulling him into a quick hug, the kind that wanted to linger for a bit longer but somehow didn't.   
  
"I don't really know. I'll text you when I do." He pulled away after that and smiled, shouting "I'm out!" on his way to the door. He waved but didn't turn around when the doorbell jingled and a draft of cool evening air and traffic sounds replaced him in the shop.  
  
Peggy and Alex were quiet for a moment, listening to the silence of the shop and then sighing together before Peggy jumped off the counter and patted Alex' shoulder. "Let's go." she murmured with a slightly exhausted grin. He nodded and followed her to the kitchen where he started cleaning the floor with a broom and she started putting away the baking utensils she had used earlier. They cleaned in quiet, until Peggy finally turned around, holding a dough-covered whisk and drawing in a breath.  
  
"You know, I've been wondering..." she said, staring into the air and straightening her ponytail. _Oh shit. Here we go, what did I fuck up this time?_   
  
"About what?" he asked, his voice slightly shaky. Peggy seemed to consider her next words for a moment, and then shook her head energetically, frowning at herself and turning back around. "Never mind." she murmured, aggressively starting to scrub the whisk.  
  
"About what?" he insisted. He leaned the broom against an aluminum shelf and straightened his spine. _Come on, lay it on me_.   
  
Peggy's narrow shoulders in her yellow-sleeved white t-shirt tensed, but she remained silent, scrubbing a plate and then dropping the sponge into the sink with a sharp sigh and spinning on her heel.  
  
"Do you love John?" she asked, a serious expression on her face, and Alex felt like she had punched him in the jaw. He felt his mouth open but found himself unable to respond.   
  
_Fuck.  
  
_ Peggy watched him silently. She was still wearing wet rubber gloves, her brows were furrowed and her red lips shut tightly, and he knew that if he lied now, she would know immediately. Peggy wasn't dumb. Not at all. She was just as smart as her older sisters, maybe even smarter and definitely more sensitive when it came to figuring out if people were lying.  
  
"Um." he coaxed out.   
  
Peggy lifted an eyebrow and sighed quietly. "I'm not going to judge you, believe me, I'm the last person to hate on LGBT-people, but I just want to say, I would understand it 100%. He's frickin awesome. I mean, he's charismatic and talented and sensitive and I mean, _look at him._ I used to have a crush on him, too, until... well, anyway. I'm not trying to make you tell me something you don't feel like talking about, I'm just curious."  
  
Alex swallowed and realized that his hands had clenched into fists. He loosened them and blinked heavily, his heart racing, and he drew in a shaky breath.  
  
"I do."  
  
And it felt so good, s _o_ good to say it out loud, to actually admit it to someone.   
He watched Peggy letting out a breath he didn't know she had held and he watched her taking her rubber gloves off, and he didn't realize he was crying until she was slinging her small arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a soft hug.  
  
He sobbed into her shoulder and hugged her back, his arms closing around her middle tightly. He held onto her for dear life, his sweet, sweet friend, this amazing girl Peggy Schuyler who always confided in him, believed in him and constantly sent him old memes whenever he was feeling bad. She was wonderful and he felt so blessed to have her. He felt so blessed to have all of these amazing new people in his life, even Angelica, who scared him a little, and Madison, who was actually just annoying sometimes.   
  
He was so grateful to have them. To have this found-family that loved and supported him.  
  
Peggy shushed him, rocking their bodies in the warm, bright kitchen. He didn't know why he was crying, maybe from the relief of finally telling someone about his feelings for John, or maybe because he was terrified of said feelings, or maybe just because everything had grown a little too much. His mother and her illness and the fact that it was almost April, that there were only five months of the 6 months Washington had given her, John and this entire new life he was inevitably building in New York.  
  
But it was okay. It was okay not to quite know the reason why he was crying, it was okay that he loved John and John would never love him, it was okay that today, the cars on the street looked like tired, anonymous fish in the stream of New York's traffic and that the sky was grey outside.  
  
It was all okay, because Peggy's hug was warm, and her hair smelled like raspberry shampoo, and he was safe here, he was okay, it was okay.  
   
At some point, she pulled away and cupped his face with her hands, standing on her toes to press a kiss to his forehead. He chuckled wetly, sniffling, and she grinned at him.  
  
"Congratulations on figuring that out, then. And honestly, when I look back on the gross way you guys acted around each other today, and think about the way he talks about you like you put the goddamn stars in the sky, I think you stand a better chance than you probably think." She laughed brightly when he stared at her with wide eyes, and then she ruffled his hair and loosened his arms around her body.  
  
"You can go home, Alex. I'll finish here. Text me if anything's wrong, okay?" She waved at him with a grin and he waved back, shouting "Thank you! Good night." before he left her to the leftover dishes in the kitchen and went to get his backpack.  
  
_  
_**When Peggy Schuyler unlocked the front door to the East Village apartment she shared with her sisters and Maria** , it was half to 9pm, and she was yawning every twenty seconds. It had been a long day; a long and exhausting, but nice day.  
  
She exchanged her jeans with sweatpants in her room and left her jute bag on her bed and shuffled down the wide hallway to the living room. She found her three roommates as well as Hercules and Madison – what the hell were all these people doing here, especially Herc, she really wasn't in the mood for the whole what-even-are-we-because-I-like-Lafayette-too-and-it's-complicated-thing – assembled in front of the TV watching _Inside Out_. The movie was already halfway over and everyone was crying.   
  
Eliza occupied the entire couch, buried beneath the blanket from her bed. She had woken up with a fever this morning and probably not really moved since then. Her socked feet lay in Maria's lap, who was mindlessly massaging them while wiping at her eyes every now and then.  
Angelica, Herc and Madison sat on the floor, backs against the couch and all of them holding bowls of pasta.   
_Pasta. Oh shit, I'm hungry._  
  
"Hey my dudes, did you leave any of that stuff for me?" Peggy shouted cheerfully when she entered the room, pointing her finger at Angelica, who nodded and swallowed the bite of pasta she had been chewing on. "Yeah, in the kitchen. It should be cold by now, so you might want to warm it up a bit." she said without really looking at hers sister.  
  
Peggy rolled her eyes at her and padded to the kitchen, spotting a big pot with the leftovers and taking a plate of it, putting it into the microwave. She leaned against the counter and waited. Sometimes she wished the others would just have waited for her, with dinner as well as with the movie.   
Her sisters usually did.   
  
She had been the last Schuyler to move into the apartment. And yes, she was the youngest, and yes, she was also the smallest, but she paid most of the rent and was absolutely awesome and definitely a valid person and just generally _didn't deserve to be excluded_. It was like in elementary school, when someone would say _'the Schuyler Sisters, ah, you mean Angelica and Eliza'_ and she'd jump into the conversation and scream _'and Peggy!'_ which had lead to people not calling her _'Peggy'_ but _'and Peggy'_ , but that wasn't the point.  
  
The microwave dinged and Peggy opened it with a sigh, grabbing a bottle of coke from the crate next to the fridge and then returning to the living room and purposefully sitting down next to Herc and not Angelica. She pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned up to his ear.   
  
"I'm probably not supposed to tell you this, but you're... you, so I guess it's okay if I tell you that Alex told me that he's in love with John." she whispered, not even caring about anything, fuck secrecy, Herc always kept everything to himself anyway, so it was fine. He tore his watery eyes off the TV screen and looked down at her, smiling that beautiful, wide smile of his. "I know." he simply said, and she chuckled and smiled back, leaning against him and closing her eyes and trying to imagine something, something with him.  
  
But it didn't work.   
Because whenever she did, there was always this other person who held her second hand, this other person that she just really like, too, just as much as she like Hercules.  
  
There was always this other person, this guy with the frizzy hair and ridiculously attractive accent and strong arms and bright smile that she had loved from the second he had sold her her first coffee at the Café Adrienne.  
  
There was always this other guy, Lafayette, her _friend, Herc's friend_ , and Peggy just didn't know what to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like John said, what a mess. Anybody have a map, anybody maybe happen to know how the hell to do this? I don't know if you can tell but this is me just pretending to know.  
> Please don't leave me.
> 
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> the next chapter is going to be the one where I end your suffering by the way so lol see you in two weeks


	7. Spanish Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people talk to Alex and try to comfort him. Some don't succeed at all and just make him angry at them. Some confuse him and make him cry. Some don't - or barely - even have to talk to make him okay again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so yeah what is a schedule. I hope y'all don't want to burn me alive after this.  
> Disclaimer: I don't speak Spanish at all so please, please, plEASe tell me if you do and notice I made some mistakes, that would be amazing!!
> 
> This is hella short and beta'd by my wonderful beta-angel-human-hybrid, my lovely Emma, who managed to fit me, the constant trainwreck in her life and this piece of... art..... into her tight it-is-exam-season-and-absolutely-nobody-has-time-for-anything ( talking about exam season it is punching me in the face with legit three tests in four days next week haha slay me), and she is struggling quite a lot and deserves all the love, I am rooting for her in the final math exam of her life!!! I am veryvery proud of her!!!! You go, dipshit!!!!!!
> 
> Well, anyway. Like I said.  
> Everyone is a horrible mess and nobody has time.
> 
> Nor do I, actually, but here we go anyway lmao.

  
  
**April came with rainstorms and everyone, including Alex himself constantly being in a bad mood.**  
  
The flower shop was continuously closed due to nobody wanting to leave their apartments, and after Alex had spent a whole afternoon sending John whiny voicemails talking about how lonely he was, he started spending most of his time holing in with John at his place. They watched TV show after TV show with Herc and Eliza – Peggy, Laf and Maria still went to work because Laf was merciless when it came to weather-related excuses.  
He visited Rachel at the hospital for especially long – Burr had given up making him leave at 1pm by now – and spent hours writing at the Café Adrienne or next to John when they were burrowed in blanket forts in John’s actually extremely comfortable bed or on the couch in Alex’ apartment. John would draw and Alex would write and the rain would continuously dripple down the windows of John’s quiet room.  
  
John was extremely invested in Alex’ story; he was constantly asking for updates and giving advice where he could, and whenever Alex had written a new letter, he’d read it to him, and John would watch Alex past the screen of his laptop, eyes wide and an awestruck little smile on his face.  
  
It was part of why Alex kept writing his story in the first place. He was addicted to John’s reactions to it. Addicted to his attention, his gaze and his compliments and his smile and his advice and the way he snuggled up to Alex whenever he read to him with his blanket clutched tightly.  
  
They were by themselves or with Eliza most of the time, since Herc spent a lot of his free time with Laf and Peggy at the coffee shop. The three of them had become insufferably close over the past weeks; the others rarely saw them, but John told Alex that was normal, that the three of them had been like an inseparable, constantly laughing package of grossly positive vibes ever since they’d met, and that they were just becoming even closer at the moment for reasons they’d probably soon be ready to share with the group.  
  
Alex almost forgot what was going on outside his life with John and his friends. He was so invested and wrapped up in the love he felt for these people and his new found surroundings that he sometimes barely noticed how warm it was getting on some days, how far up the sun rose in the sky. How it really was spring.  
  
The only times he noticed was when he was with Rachel.  
  
They had started taking walks in the hospital gardens after their brunch. They’d walk beneath the blooming trees, her holding on to his arm and wrapped in warm cardigans and a scarf. She would go on and on about how _absolutely wonderful_ it was to breathe air that actually felt like air instead of chemicals and sadness and how happy she was to be here with him while looking around herself and leaning against his shoulder, and he would smile and nod and pretend he didn’t notice how she was growing skinnier every day.  
The cool air and the occasional drizzle in the garden even gave her cheeks some of the color they used to have back and that was definitely worth ignoring the way her wrist bones stuck out beneath her skin when she wrapped her arm around his.  
  
  
"So, how is life outside this hellhole?" Rachel smiled up at him widely, the corners of her mouth digging dimples into her pale cheeks.  
  
It was 11am on a Saturday, and the park lay coolly in the shadow of the east wing of the hospital building. It was empty save a couple of people, patients and their visitors – friends, family, doctors, and therapists – who were walking in polite distance to them. It had finally stopped raining, after days and days. The smell was still lingering in the air, though, the fresh, cool scent of wet soil and blossoms and grass that he loved so much. It almost smelled a bit like the flower shop, and a bit like John’s room. Alex quickly shook the thought out of his head and smiled back at Rachel, sliding his hands into his hoodies pocket.  
  
It wasn’t even _his_ hoodie. It was John’s hoodie. Oversized, soft, green and smelling like vanilla.  
Alex had slept at his place tonight – and the night before that and the night before that night and the night before the night before that night. They had watched a really bad movie just because Harrison Ford was in it and fallen asleep on the couch. And then, after a shower and a bowl of cereal and a red ‘Best Dad’ cup of coffee – that thing had become his over the last week – he’d stolen one of John’s hoodies and sneaked out into the morning while the others were still asleep. He’d even left his backpack there, since he was probably returning in the evening.  
  
“Life is pretty good, I think. I spend a lot of time with John and the others.” He replied to her question and ignored the inevitable smirk that always appeared on her face when he mentioned John.  
  
Alex had gotten used to her teasing him about his friendship with the other boy by now. It made him feel just a bit like he was fourteen again, but that was normal, he always felt like a kid when he was with her, and he had made his peace with it.  
  
“Please make sure to bring him again some time. Oh, and those two girls, what were their names again?” She frowned up at him. He was glad she wasn’t talking about John anymore; just the sound of his name had Alex holding back the widest smile.  
  
“Peggy and Eliza Schuyler.” He replied. He’d brought them the other day mostly because Peggy was jealous that John had met Rachel and she hadn’t, and because Eliza just wanted to meet “that woman Alex never shuts up about” and because she was curious about the place all her bouquets went.  
  
The two of them and Rachel had taken an instant liking to each other, soon discussing books, New York’s senators and, inevitable, Alex’ dubious relationship with John. Alex figured it was simply pretty much impossible to dislike the Schuyler sisters. The three of them were just incredible, wonderful women.  
  
“Oh, yeah! They were _amazing_. So smart. I felt like, twenty years older when I was with them because they think so fast. And so kind. They made me feel all doting-y.” She chuckled at her feet at her neologism and Alex felt himself smile. _Same._  
  
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to bring them again. I’m glad you get along with them.”  
  
Rachel huffed a laugh. “I’m glad _you_ get along with them. Before you met all those people, and especially he-who-must-not-be-named, I kind of felt like you were distancing yourself from the world around you to be with me. Like you were- like you were splitting yourself in half and leaving one part on the doorstep whenever you came. But… well. I don’t know, you seem…” She still wasn’t looking at him.  
  
Alex squeezed her hand on his arm with a frown. “What are you trying to say?” he asked quietly. They had reached one of the benches in the park, wooden and white and covered in wetness from the night. Rachel sunk down on it nevertheless and Alex let himself be pulled along.  
  
She looked up at him through thin, short lashes. “I don’t quite know how to describe it. You just seem… wholer. _Happier_.” She lifted her eyebrows in an almost sheepish way, smiling a small smile.  
  
Alex blinked slowly.  
  
Rachel probably didn’t realize how much her simple words hit the nail’s head.  
He was the happiest he’d been in a long time. Sure, there were plenty of problems left to worry about, like money, his feelings for John that were growing harder and harder to hide with every passing day, how he was slowly but surely falling in love with the city he lived in, or the fact that _his mother was dying,_ but still, he was not falling apart as much as he probably should be.  
  
He was a person who always used a lot of words, he loved them, it was his thing, but he found himself unable to describe the way he was feeling with any other word than happy.  
  
“And part of me doesn’t quite know how to feel about that” Rachel went on, “Part of me is angry at myself for not having been able to give you that happiness, part of me is scared you want to leave me behind because I’m slowing you and your happiness down – I wouldn’t really blame you if you did, by the way – but most of me is just in tears of joy because you finally, finally seem to have found a little patch of peace in that hurricane of… _you_ you’ve got going on. Alex. I’m so glad you’re happy.”  
  
Alex looked at her with wide eyes and felt his lips curl into a wide, loving smile. _God_ , he loved this woman.  
  
He didn’t realize he was crying until she wiped his cheek with her thumb and pulled him in to kiss his forehead first, and then wrap her arms around him.  
  
The sat wrapped up around each other for a little while, just breathing in unison and holding on to each other until Rachel untangled herself from him and stood, reaching for his arm to pull him to his feet.  
  
“Let’s keep walking.” She said as she hooked her arm around his and leaned against his shoulder, letting out a happy sigh.  
  
“You know, this is one of the things I really didn’t appreciate enough when I wasn’t… you know… _in here_.” She looked around herself, squinting.  
  
Alex sniffled and wiped at his eyes furtively, muttering a “What?” into the sleeve of John’s hoodie.  
  
She gestured emptily at the trees and the flowers and the sunlight hitting the upper half of the brick west wing. “This. Nature. Air. Being around people I love. I just… I was so oblivious to it all. I’m becoming more aware of for just how granted I took it now that it’s not there all the time anymore.” She looked up at him seriously, leaning her chin on his shoulder and blinking slowly.  
  
“Promise me you won’t take it all for granted. Promise me you’ll go out there and live your life and get what you want and show your love and be as true as you can be, no matter how high the cost, Alex, okay? Take all the opportunities I didn’t take. Be aware of the air you’re breathing every now and then.”  
  
They’d stopped walking at some point, and Alex noticed they were back at the hospital’s entrance.  
  
He nodded, swallowing heavily and trying hard to be grateful for the air he was breathing and also trying hard not to think about what opportunities she might be talking about.  
  
He’d noticed before that the things Rachel said to him were all said for a reason. She said everything for a reason, always there, always steering him in just the right direction.  
  
_Only what direction? What opportunities?  
  
_ He buried his hands back in the pockets of John’s hoodie after Rachel let go of his arm, looking at the wing door into the hospital when it was pushed open by Dr. Washington.  
  
The man stepped out into the cool morning, exhaling a cloud of mist and looking around himself with the usual worry between his ‘majestic eyebrows’ – that’s what John had said when Alex had shown him a picture of Washington a while ago. When he spotted Alex and Rachel, his face lit up.  
  
“Rachel, Alex, good morning! I’ve been looking for you. How are you two?” He slid his hands out of the pockets of his white coat and smiled a worried smile, seemingly uncertain if he was allowed to step closer. Alex decided to put him out of his misery and walked up to him to shake his hand, smiling. Rachel followed him.  
  
“I’m fine, thanks, George. The air is so nice out here. You should try to go on walks more often.” She smiled genuinely. Washington let out a soft chuckle.  
  
“I’ll see what I can fit into my schedule, thanks for the advice. Um, I’m very sorry to interrupt you two on your walk, but Alex, would you mind maybe joining me for a… coffee, maybe? I’ll pay. There are some things I would like to talk to you about.” It truly amazed Alex how Washington’s expression could shift from open and happy to apprehensive in just the bat of an eyelash.  
  
He felt himself nod quickly. “Yeah, no, absolutely. Just a minute.” He said. Washington nodded shortly, turning around to go back into the building, shouting “Meet me inside!” before the door fell shut.  
  
Alex and Rachel said their Goodbyes, and she reminded him once again to seize his opportunities before pointing at the door with a grin. “Meet him inside.” She echoed Washington’s words, and Alex obliged, walking to the door and leaving Rachel beneath the trees.  
  
  
**He walked back to the cafeteria** , spotting Washington at the counter among the other visitors. He crossed the room, snaking past groups of people, tables and wheelchairs and came to a halt next to Washington. The older man stood at the counter holding a Twix bar and a carton of coconut water and smiled at Alex while he ordered a cup of black coffee before turning around to frown at Washington and his drink of choice.  
  
“I don’t understand how you can drink that.” He muttered as he took the cup the barista was holding out to him. Washington scoffed. “Why? It tastes good and it’s really healthy. Consider the coconut, Alexander!” he grinned, and Alex huffed a laugh, murmuring a “Right.” under his breath and pointing at a free table in the middle of the busy room with a questioning expression. Washington shrugged and followed him.  
  
They sat down opposite of each other and Alex pretended to be busy opening a package of sugar while Washington unpacked the Twix-Bars and offered him one. Alex tanked him but left it untouched, taking his cup into his hands and looking at Washington across the table, who was fidgeting with a napkin feverishly. They sat in silence for a while, until Washington drew in a breath, looking up at Alex with a smile.  
  
“How are you, Alexander?” he asked a little clumsily.  
  
Alex blinked, smiling a confused smile. “I… I thought this was about my mother. Is everything okay with her?” he asked, and Washington looked at him dumbstruck for a second, his hands on the napkin stalling, as if it was a stupid question. It kind of was, if Alex thought about it. Rachel hadn’t been ‘ _okay’_ in about seven years.  
  
“Well. If I’m being honest, it is about her, but I didn’t want to get to that immediately. I was just curious how you were doing. The first few months in a new city can be… well, rough. Especially here. You don’t know anybody yet, your flat’s probably expensive and shitty and the landlord is weird, the elevated trains are hella loud around here and most of the people who own a car shouldn’t even have been given a license in the first place, I just… know how all that can be. Everybody moves to New York City for the first time at some point, son.” Washington looked at him in a way that was probably supposed to be sympathetic.  
  
“Don’t call me ‘ _son’_.” Alex couldn’t hold back.  
  
“… Alright, okay, not calling you ‘son’ anymore. Sorry.” Washington watched him stare at a little bit of spilled sugar on the table apprehensively. “I was just, well; I was just trying to…”  
  
“… Find out…” Alex attempted  
  
“… How you were holding up. Because it’s important to me. Because I’m your mother’s doctor, I have been for many years, and I consider it my job to make sure you aren’t falling apart.”  
  
Alex let his eyes wander up Washington’s wide chest and then looked at him, narrowing them. Why was Washington talking to him like this? Did he pity him?  
  
Alex didn’t need his goddamn pity.  
  
He didn’t need _anyone’s_ pity, but especially not Washington’s. It wasn’t like the guy was his father or anything. He might have been the most present and caring and supportive adult during Alex’ youth, more than any of Alex’ foster parents, but he just had no right to demand to know what was going on in Alex’ life, he had no right to suddenly _care_.  
  
“Why are you telling me this?” Alex murmured. Washington rolled his eyes indistinguishably and opened his mouth to speak, but Alex cut him off with an uncoordinated wave of his hand to prevent another sermon about New Yorker traffic. “It’s alright, it’s alright, you don’t have to explain yourself, I get it, you’re my Mom’s doctor, which means you feel like you’re responsible for my well-being as well as hers. Stuff like that.” He drew in a heavy breath. “Well, let’s just say… I’m… I’m fine, really. Better than I used to be, I think. I met someone. No, not _someone_ , I mean, I met, some nice people, my friends. Some people. And their place is great, so I don’t spend too much time in my stinky apartment with the creepy landlord anyway.” He grinned awkwardly at Washington, who smiled back at him, nodding, seemingly relieved that Alex was finally talking and that he wasn’t the lonely potato he had just described.  
  
“Great. I’m glad, son.” He said, putting his fidget-napkin aside.  
  
Alex couldn’t help but look away quickly.  
  
His head was suddenly aching.  
  
He pressed his eyes closed at Washington’s choice of words, pinching the back of his nose with a weary sigh.  
The two kids screaming at the table next to theirs were suddenly extremely loud and the people around him incredibly, way too close and he snarled “I’m not your _son_ , George. I really appreciate your concern, but I would like to get to why you wanted to talk to me in the first place now, if that’s okay with you.”  
  
Washington drew in another breath, looking down at his lap, then up and Alex who was now looking at the grains of sugar on the table again, straightening his shoulders.  
  
“I’m glad you have someone, because I know you think you can just wait this whole thing out. I know you think you can just wait until Rachel’s cancer is gone… and you can take her back to the south where you will get back into your old life and meet up with James on Thanksgiving and go to college and get married and live a happy life with a wife or a husband and kids that have a grandma and a dog in a house in the suburbs. I get that that’s what you want, why wouldn’t you, hell, that’s what I want. But- Alexander…” Washington sighed, sliding his hand over his shaved head. Alex was staring at him, still holding his coffee cup in his shaking hand, waiting, unable to look away.  
  
_How dare you mention James. How dare you mention my sexuality and the south and how dare you mention kids and an abuela. How dare you._  
That’s what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t, his throat was tight and sealed like a letter, and he made a choked sound before coaxing out a quiet “What are you trying to say?” _  
_  
Washington glanced at him, obviously regretting his choice of words and what was yet to come, but kept going nevertheless.  
  
“… I’m saying, settle in, Alex. Wait, if that’s what you want. What I’m saying is, you better get used to New York. ‘Cause I can’t…”  
  
There was another sigh. Alex couldn’t breathe.  
  
“I can’t see your mother getting out of here any time soon. Or ever. Things are not looking good. And you know I am fighting for her life, and you know I’m doing everything, everything in my power to help her, but I don’t- I don’t think I’m getting anywhere. Not this time. I’m sorry, Alex.”

Washington’s voice was nothing but a whisper in the end, hoarse and broken, a spine carrying a too heavy load of guilt and regret, but Alex didn’t care. He didn’t care if Washington regretted being helpless, because bottom line was that he was, and Alex wanted to punch him in the face. “But you- you’re a fucking doctor. You studied this shit! You studied curing people, for fuck’s sake, you went to a goddamn expensive school for this! What- there must be something, _something_ you can do! I already gave you my fucking stem cell sample, _why aren’t you doing anything_? Or chemo therapy? I don’t know how all that works, but you’re a _doctor_ , Washington!” Alex snapped, his voice hot and shaking as he leaned across the table. He noticed that coffee was dripping into his lap. He’d probably put the cup back into the saucer with a little too much force, but he couldn’t care less about it.  
  
“The chemo isn’t working. And the stem cells failed, too. We can only keep trying. I’m sorry.”  
  
Alex banged his fist on the table. Cutlery clinked, more coffee in his lap. “Stop saying you’re sorry! It _doesn’t mean anything_ if you keep saying it! Do you think saying you’re sorry will change anything about her state? Why isn’t there anything, _anything_ you can do?” he snapped. He was probably crying by now, but he didn’t care.  
  
Washington still refused to look at him. Alex believed to hear a quiet, choked sob, then the man whispered “I’m sorry, son.”, and Alex didn’t realize he had stood until he heard the chair hit the floor behind him.  
  
“Call me ‘ _son’_ one more time!” he hissed, and then he was throwing a couple of bucks on the table and storming out of the cafeteria.  
  
  
**He could still hear Washington's voice with a sentence about failing treatments ringing in his ears** when he was already pacing down the sidewalk, staring at his feet angrily and wiping tear after tear away from his cheek.  
  
What the fuck was everyone's deal today? Rachel and her inspirational speech had thrown him into a pit of questions and confusion, and then Washington with his obnoxious coconut water and his I-care-about-you expression, telling him all those things, all those things he didn't want to hear.  
  
It was all bullshit, Rachel wasn't dying. Rachel was going to be just fine. Like she'd always been in the end.  
  
They had always said she would die. Every time her cancer returned after months of everything seeming just fine, they had said it was hopeless, and that she only had half a year left.  
Every time, they had been wrong, she was still alive.  
  
Rachel was alive and she hadn’t left him until now, and she wouldn't leave him now, either, regardless what Washington said.  
  
He remembered a few words Rachel had said a while ago, a "He's never been wrong before." Alex wiped tears off his cheek with a wet gasp.  
  
"He has. He has." he growled to himself, until he realized that Washington hadn't been the one actually diagnosing until two years ago. It had been some white guy, Dr. George Thirdking or something weird like that. He had diagnosed. He had been wrong about the prognosis.  
  
Not Washington. He was always right. Which meant Rachel was not going to be okay this time.  
  
And that Alex was really just a little boy. A little boy with a red t-shirt and sweaty palms, terrified of being left alone.  
  
Alex choked on a sob and crossed the street, aiming for the coffee shop until he realized that today was a holiday, no coffee shop, everyone was home, but Alex needed something. He needed someone to hold him and tell him it was okay so he could pretend that it was, like Peggy last Wednesday in the coffee shop, but not her, no, not _anyone_ , not anyone but-  
  
_\- John.  
  
_ Alex staggered down the sidewalk, his head spinning, trying and failing to even out his breathing until he was at a doorstep, pressing a familiar doorbell. He hid his face in the sleeve of John's hoodie, sniffling loudly and waited for someone to answer the inter phone. After a moment, somebody picked up, and Alex recognized John's sleepy voice.  
  
"Who the fucking fuck is this? It's 11am on a damn holiday, this isn't Manhattan where people actually have jobs they go to, you're in Brooklyn, you asshat, get a hobby." he slurred, yawning, and Alex knew he would usually smile about this, the fact that his friend had still been sleeping, that he had just used a worryingly high amount of swearwords talking to - for all he knew - a complete stranger, and especially that he had actually just said _'fucking fuck'_.  
  
Usually.  
  
But now he just choked on a sob, melting into the wall as he sniffled. "It's me, shithead."  
  
"Alex? What the fuck? Shouldn’t you be up here with me sleeping on my couch or my floor or something? I should’ve given you that spare key ages ago…" He heard John shift.  
  
"I probably should be up there with you. I wish I was, to be honest. But, can you please just come down here for a minute?" Alex murmured, closing his eyes in teary-eyed prayer.  
  
“Umm… why don’t you just come up… well, okay… okay. Of course, I’m coming. I'll get dressed, we're opening the flower shop in the afternoon anyway. Hang on."  
  
The inter phone was hung up, and Alex leaned his back against the wall, noticing that he could catch his breath again just from hearing John's voice.  
  
_I'll just get dressed. Hang on. That means it’s only a matter of time.  
  
I'll just get dressed. Hang on.  
  
_He closed his eyes and listened to his friend's voice again from his memory.  
  
Then he started counting.  
  
Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, and then he just kept going, and when he'd reached thirty, the door next to him opened tentatively and John stepped out, squinting at all the brightness but quickly looking down at Alex, his smile turning into a worried frown  
  
"Oh shit. Alex, querido, what happened to you?" He was with him in just two steps, caging Alex in his arms and pulling him into a hug.  
  
John had this way of putting his one hand on the back of Alex' head when they hugged. He'd always pull his head into his warm shoulder and thread his fingers through his hair carefully, taking Alex apart with the touch of his hand and soft nothings whispered in Spanish into his neck until he was calm again or simply pulling away because he got the feeling he didn't want to let go.  
  
It only made Alex cry harder. His fists curled around the back of John's grey, very big, very worn Adidas sweater  on their own account as he sobbed open-mouthed into his friend's shoulder, everything shaking, everything on this mild spring day feeling so, so, so terribly cold.  
  
Except John.  
He was warm and smelled like sleep and his apartment, and he was shushing Alex and supporting his head and the soft hum of his voice that radiated throughout their bodies filled Alex with less and less confusion and less and less emptiness.  
  
"Respira, querido, respira. Estoy aquí, bebé. Respira. Estoy aquí. Estoy aquí."  
  
They remained like this for what felt like hours. At some point, Alex' knees gave in and he slumped down on the step in front of John's apartment building but still refusing to let go of the other boy's body. John let himself be dragged along, resting his chin on the top of Alex' head, patiently waiting and murmuring until Alex lifted his head out of his chest, looking up at him. His lashes were wet, and John reached out to wipe his damp cheeks with the cuff of his jumper.  
  
"I never really listened in Spanish class." Alex whispered, his voice broken. John frowned at him. He'd expected something else, something like 'My mom died.' or 'My landlord threw me out.' or 'I'm leaving New York.', anything but this really. He tried to go with it anyway.  
  
"Why? You're from... what was that tiny island's name again? Nevis? Don't they speak Spanish there?"  
  
Alex leaned into him, against his shoulder, facing the street. "I guess they do. And we lived in San Juan after that, but we still mostly spoke English there. And then we moved so much after my Mom... well. You know. My brother and I, we moved so much that it was just sort of impossible to learn anything until the Stevens' finally let us stay in New York. But I like it when you speak Spanish. I just... I’m super rusty." Alex' lower lip started quivering again, so John hurried to reply.  
  
"Want me to teach you, querido?" he asked, smiling down at Alex, who nodded his head hesitatingly, making himself small in John's arms that somehow still remained around his middle, making John's head swim just a little.  
  
"How do you say 'hold me'?"  
  
Alex looked at the people passing on the sidewalk. Some threw the two boys curled up around each other on the doorstep of the brick building looks, but most didn’t, and the two of them didn’t even care. They were too busy with listening to each other’s heartbeats.  
  
"Abrázame." John replied, and unconsciously gripped Alex a little closer, absent mindedly tracing his fingers against the side of Alex’ jaw. The other boy’s eyelids fluttered.  
  
"And how do you say 'help me'?" Alex breathed, brokenly, still not looking at John.  
  
John traced his fingers up his temple and into his slightly disheveled hair, leaving goose bumps on Alex’ neck. He played with strands that had fallen out of his ponytail and watched the wind tousle them.  
  
"Ayúdame." he answered. Alex looked at their touching knees. His dark, wet lashes framing his slightly reddened, puffy eyes were a dark contrast to his tan skin and his jaw was covered in last night’s stubble and there was a little bit of snot below his nose and John still thought _he is so beautiful I think I just might cry.  
  
_ "How do you say 'Promise me'?" Alex turned and burrowed his face in John’s shoulder. John could see his chest heave as he breathed and thought he was willing to promise Alex everything he wanted. If he just stayed, because John really, _really_ liked being alive at the same time as him.  
  
"Prométeme." He murmured.  
  
"How do you say 'stay'?"

"Quédate."  
  
"And how do you say 'always'?"  
  
"Para siempre."  
  
And Alex finally lifted his head to look at him with wide, glossy eyes.  
  
A small, shy smile played around his lips.  
  
"Quédate para siempre, por favor." he breathed, and closed his eyes, sinking into John's embrace with an almost dramatic sigh. John, who was burning up with nervousness about the fact that there was no room for just-friendship in the proximity they shared right now, and feeling sick with worry, and bursting at the seams with love for this scared boy who was sad for no evident reason.  
  
"I’m not sure if that was entirely correct if we're talking grammar, but I got the gist, bebita, and I'll see what I can do." John replied, smirking at Alex who didn't open his eyes but simply stuck his tongue out at him.  
  
After a small eternity, they untangled their limbs and Alex let John wipe his cheeks with his sleeves once more, telling him that _his hoodie was really cool_ _by the way_ with a grin and pull him to his feet and down the sidewalk.  
  
John hadn’t had breakfast yet, so they went to a small coffee shop and while John had his breakfast croissant, Alex stared at his untouched black tea and hoped John wouldn’t force him to talk about how he was feeling, because honestly, Alex didn’t know.  
  
He just wanted to stay. He just wanted to stay and make sure John kept his promises.  
  
John didn’t make him talk.  
  
He just had his croissant and complained about the décor and called Alex names and even made him laugh, and on the way outside, he took Alex’ hand for a moment, just a few seconds and squeezed it, and Alex squeezed back to say:  
  
_Estoy aquí._ _Yo también me quedaré aquí._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so sad. The next one will be happier. Like, way happier. And it will only take me until Monday because I already wrote most of it, I just felt like dividing it here. Like. It was just appropriate because. Certain things are about to happen. Certain shit is about to go down friends. Stay tuned for Virginians and kisses. 
> 
> So James Hamilton Jr., that James that Washington mentioned, was Alexander Hamilton's brother, they didn't get along that well, he makes an apperance later on in the story.
> 
> Translations: (for those of y'all who just didn't pay attention in Spanish class like Hamilham) (I don't. Speak this language. But anyway. I really really tried.)  
> Abuela ( I will never be over In The Heights gET OUT OF MY HOUSE)  
> ~ Grandmother  
> "Respira, querido, respira. Estoy aquí, bebita. Respira. Estoy aquí. Estoy aquí."  
> ~ Breathe, darling, breathe. I’m here, Baby Girl. Breathe. I’m here. I’m here. (Which sounds so weird now but okay)  
> "Abrázame."  
> ~ "Hold me."  
> "Ayúdame."  
> ~ Help me.  
> "Prométeme."  
> ~ "Promise me."  
> "Quédate."  
> ~ Stay.  
> "Para siempre."  
> ~ "Always/Forever" (they're like Isaac and his girlfriend from 'The Fault In Our Stars' eww)  
> "Quédate para siempre, por favor."  
> ~ Please stay forever. (or something)  
> Estoy aquí. Yo también me quedaré aquí.  
> ~ I’m here. I’m staying, too. (or something) (naaw look at Alex throwing all his plans aside and doing just what Washington told him to do)
> 
> Okay, I hope you enjoyed this! I'll see you soon! (On monday, hopefully! Not such a long wait! Yey!) :)


	8. What'd I miss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Jefferson is coming hoome, Alex is offered a job once again, people get drunk. Stuff happens. I'm shit at summaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. It's technically not Monday yet, but I procrastinated studying so much this weekend that I was actually finished this thing around noon today so I thought I'd just post it right now because ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Two chapters in three day, I'm spoiling you. Well, at least they're not that good. That would be too much to ask.  
> Okay just in case: There's underage drinking and drug use in this one. People smoke weed because I just wanted to make that 21 Chump Street reference you know.

  
  
**Alex and John arrived at the flower shop at 3pm.  
  
** After their very late breakfast, they’d walked back to Alex’ place to get his notepad for some writing but had ended up napping together on the sun warmed living room carpet, waking up with their fingers intertwined and then not talking about it with deep blushes on the entire way to the shop.   
  
Inside it was cool as always. The shop was empty except for Laf, Herc and Peggy at a table in the café area and Eliza, who sat in a chair behind the counter with a book in her lap and looked up when the two came in.  
  
“Hey, you guys” she smiled and threw the book shut, her index finger marking the page she was on and looked at John expectantly. She had texted them earlier saying that she was willing to trade tomorrow’s entire afternoon shift for a donut right now, and John, without hesitating, had gotten her one. He tossed her the paper bag and she caught it mid-air with a happy noise, diving headfirst into it and emerging with said donut.  
  
John dropped on another chair next to Eliza and stole a piece of her donut, stuffing it into his mouth with a childish grin. “It’s from that place Hamilton and I robbed last week. I paid this time, though. The guy seemed to remember us, I think he charged me extra, but well. I guess we deserved that.” He mumbled around his bite with a shrug.   
  
Alex felt himself grin and was absolutely amazed at how his mood had all but shifted. He decided to join the two of them and gestured for John to make some room for him on his chair before squeezing into it, sitting more on John’s lap than the chair itself. Not that that had been his intention in the first place.   
  
He believed to feel John tense up beneath him indistinguishably, but maybe that was just Alex imagining things.  
  
He snatched a piece of Eliza’s donut, too and pointed at her book while chewing hurriedly, refusing to speak with his mouth full like John had. John watched him struggle with his mouth full of donut for a while, then asked for him.  
  
“What are you reading, Lizzy?” he said. Alex threw him a grateful look, still chewing.  
  
Eliza flipped the book, showing the cover. It was ‘ _Twilight’_ , fucking ‘ _Twilight’,_ and Alex pulled a face, choking on a small bit of donut. “Are you for real? Isn’t that a bit, um, straight-white-people-kissing?” John asked. She nodded miserably. “It is! It’s super cheesy and obnoxious and extremely exhausting. I’m just reading it because it was in that shelf over there.” She pointed her donut at the shelf in the café area.   
  
Alex noticed that Laf, Herc and Peggy were holding hands beneath the table. He smiled to himself.  
  
“Who chose those books, anyway? They’re all kind of crappy.” John frowned as he leaned his chin on Alex’ shoulder, shallow breaths caressing the sensitive skin of Alex’ neck. He shuddered; now it was his turn to tense up beneath John’s touch.  
  
It reminded him of Tuesday – everything did, to be honest – the day of their This-is-not-a-date, the day he’d almost kissed John and the day John had almost kissed him back.   
  
They hadn’t talked about it yet, and Alex had the feeling they weren’t going to. They just kept getting into each other’s space, blurring the lines and testing the waters, how far they could go, how far they _wanted_ to go.   
  
It was driving Alex insane, this dance they were dancing. This complicated yet impulsive choreography of maybe-maybe-not. It was just nerve wrecking at this point.   
  
Alex had never been good at waiting for things. Especially when he wasn’t even sure they were going to happen.  
  
He glanced at John from the corner of his eye, watching the motion of his jaw as he dragged his tongue over his lips, licking off small flecks of chocolate coating at the corners of his mouth and letting himself think about what would happen if he now said something like ‘ _Want me to do that for you?_ ’ and lean in.   
  
_Good God_ , he had definitely spent too much hot, uneventful east coast summers jacking off to low-quality soft porn.  
  
“That’d be Thomas. Or Madison, he helped moving into the store. That’s how we met, did I never tell you this one? Well, in August two years ago I was walking past the shop and I saw those two in the shop that wasn’t really a shop yet, more of a shady ex-bookstore thing with mold and no proper lamps and grey walls. They were just in there, the door open, and they were arguing about wall-paint, like, really loudly. Thomas wanted purple and Jemmy said it’d look like a Sex Shop if they painted it purple. Well, anyway, I got curious and went inside and asked them what they were building. They told me and I was like ‘ _Guys that sounds really cool need some help?_ ’ and they were like ‘ _Hell Yeah!’_ So we painted the walls white in the end and the bathroom purple so Thomas wouldn’t start crying and then they took me out to the Café Adrienne and bought me coffee and introduced me to Laf and Maria. And well. The rest is history. Did you really not know that one?” Eliza frowned and John, who shook his head.   
  
Alex thought he absolutely _needed_ to check out that purple bathroom.  
  
“Hmmno, you didn’t. I only heard the bit about how you met Maria. But the rest of y’all… I kind of just presumed you were like some kind of celestial group of cool people who had just always been there doing the cool things they do, you know. But hey.” Alex felt John chuckle more than heard it. _I could so get used to this.  
  
_ “Well, anyway. We _need_ to upgrade that bookshelf. I can go look at home to see if I can spare any of mine. And I’m sorry, but I think I have to burn ‘ _Twilight’_. I know everyone loves it, but honestly? It’s fucking trash.” Eliza shook her head in disbelief when suddenly, the doorbell jingled aggressively, the door flying open. Everyone, including Laf, Herc and Peggy lifted their heads, and it was suddenly very quiet in the store.  
  
John took his chin off of Alex shoulder and Alex heard him breathe an ‘[Ay dios mio](https://genius.com/Lin-manuel-miranda-no-me-diga-lyrics#note-8037244) _._ ’  
  
Eliza had shoved her chair backwards and was standing now, the book falling from her hand to the tiled floor with a dusty _thump_.  
  
The three in the café area were simply gaping at the door, and Alex frowned at his friends with a confused chuckle, not able to hold back a “What the fuck y’all looking at? _”_ before finally turning around in the chair.  
  
There was a tall man in a dark purple blazer and white t-shirt in the doorway, grinning around the shop sweetly, widely, with the brightest teeth Alex had ever seen. Madison, who stood behind him, was halfway hidden from Alex’ sight by the soft, frizzy mess of hair surrounding the man’s head. He looked like he had just returned from fucking Barcelona or something, so happy and energetic that Alex kind of wanted to squeal happily and simultaneously kind of wanted to puke all over the man’s expensive shoes.  
  
Then, the man was pulling off his wide sunglasses, showing off flashing, burning brown eyes framed with long, dark lashes, and Alex found himself wondering how this guy could pull of those fucking sunglasses on an overcast day, but then he was opening his mouth to speak.  
  
“So, what’d I miss?” he snarled in a heavy southern accent, grinning wolfishly.  
  
And Lafayette gave a shriek of delight, shooting to his feet and racing across the shop to cage the man in a wild hug.  
  
“Mon ami! Ah, mon cœur Thomas, ça va? How was the flight? Oh, it’s so good to see your face!” he exclaimed, and Thomas – so _that_ was Thomas? Was that _the_ Thomas? – laughed brightly, hugging Laf back and kissing him on both cheeks repeatedly. Alex eyed the two with narrowed eyes, and then leaned over to whisper in John’s ear.  
  
“Yo, who the eff is this?” he muttered, and John nodded, murmuring “Yeah, I can’t stand him either. But hey, Laf likes him. Everyone likes him. Just… be nice, or whatever. Please don’t get me fired.“ before pushing Alex off of his lap and standing, then dragging him along to where the others were all standing by the door, hugging Thomas one after another in laughing fits and, in Laf’s case, tears.  
  
Alex stood by a little awkwardly, waiting for someone to signalize him it was okay to step closer to this goddamn French/Southern nature force while Peggy was just petting Thomas’ hair in awe and Laf was ruining his blazer with his tears and everyone else was bombarding him with questions. “Where have you been?”-“Uh, France?”, “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming back?”-“Oh honey, you know how much I love surprises.”, “You want to know what has changed? John’s got himself a boyfriend, that’s what.”- “Herc, for the last time, Alex is not my boyfriend”- “Oh really? Who is the poor kid, Hercules?”, and it went on and on until Thomas put his sunglasses in his hair, obviously enjoying all the attention but trying hard to look like he didn’t, pulling a big-jetlag frown.   
  
“You guys really are the sweetest, but that kid over there looks kind of lost, who is he? Who are you? I’m Thomas Jefferson.” He smiled directly at Alex – intimidating but drawing him in at the same time – and pushed his way through the crowd of people, stretching out his long-fingered hand. Alex stepped closer shyly, grasping it. It was warm and dry, the skin smooth, and Alex immediately wanted to let go again, feeling like he was invading some kind of commercial for expensive hand lotion.  
  
“Mr. Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton.” He introduced himself, straightening his shoulder because _damn, this guy is too tall to be real_ , and suddenly, John was next to him, slinging his arm around his waist and making him jump.  
  
“This is Alexander, Alex, Alexhamder, Hamilham, Baby Girl, the _poor kid_. My _boyfriend_ , Hercules.” He snarled, grinning smugly at Thomas and Herc. Alex felt himself blushing and chuckled lowly into John’s ear, muttering “You wish, you little shit.”   
  
This time, he was certain that John shivered at the tone of his voice.  
  
Thomas grinned crookedly. “Umm. Okay, so that’s Hamilton, Laurens’ boyfriend. Anything else I need to know?” he asked, spinning around himself until he spotted the coffee machine.  
  
“You moved it.” He noticed. Eliza nodded. “Yes, we had to move the entire café. The back was too dark, you see. It still works, though, you want some coffee?” she asked, and Thomas nodded, bending down to kiss her cheek sweetly.  
  
“Elizabeth, you still are and will always be an angel.” He sighed. Eliza shoved his shoulder but smiled softly nevertheless.  She grabbed his elbow to guide him to the café. Everyone followed them. John and Alex looked at each other until John shrugged and followed them, too, Alex in tow.   
  
While Peggy was scribbling a “Temporarily closed due to Virginians” sign to put in the door and Herc, John and Alex were pushing two tables together, Alex watching Eliza, Lafayette, Thomas and Madison, he noticed that something was different about James. The man stood right by Thomas’ side, listening to him and Laf excitedly corresponding in French with a soft smile on his lips and his hand occasionally brushing the back of Thomas’ hand.  
  
He wasn’t texting. In fact, his phone was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Alex narrowed his eyes, studying the way James looked at Thomas and the way Thomas’ eyes lit up whenever James touched his hand and then shook his head and murmured “Nobody in this squad is straight.” to himself as he shuffled across the café to join John and Herc, who were vigorously making coffee for everyone.  
  
The next two hours were spent talking, drinking coffee and catching up on things. Thomas talked about France for approximately forty minutes. He went on and on about all the art – he winked at that, possibly not referring only to painted art but also to human art – he’d looked at, all the wine he’d tasted in romantic restaurants with gorgeous views over Parisian rooftops, the Mac ’n cheese he’d had with his _l o v e l y_ Parisian friends, all the bars and clubs and discos and lounges he’d been to and, finally, of course, all the serious business he’d been busy with.  
  
Just the fact that Thomas liked macaroni with cheese and used the word ‘ _lovely’_ made Alex shudder and immediately dislike him.   
  
Or maybe he just disliked him because everyone was looking at him when he spoke, like he was glowing or sparkling like the vampires in that horrific book Eliza had been reading. Maybe Alex didn’t like the fact that when Thomas was in the room, he felt smaller than he actually was, and that he almost never got to say a word because of that waterfall of posh words coming from the Virginian’s mouth.  
  
Either way, Alex soon got bored of watching Jefferson talk. Sulking a little, he retreated into leaning his back against John’s shoulder and pulling his knees up to place his feet on the edge of Eliza’s chair, who was sitting next to him. He got out his phone and started sending emojis to himself, zoning out a little until John nudged his shoulder and he was back in the present where John was frowning at him.  
  
“Why are you sending heart emojis to a person that isn’t me, Hamilton? Who the fuck is ‘ _Hamburger_ ’, are you cheating on me?” he whispered sarcastically, only for Alex to hear. He was clearly attempting to make Alex smile, but Alex wasn’t really in the mood. He nudged John’s shoulder back and drew his eyebrows together.  
  
“That’s _me_ , you dipshit. I’m sending love to myself since y’all seem to be very caught up in Mr. Jefferson over there. Nobody even notices I am here. Also, I thought we weren’t together?” he snarled, and just a tiny flicker of hurt flashed across John’s features before he turned around to the group again.  
  
_Oh, now he’s mad at you, well done, Hamilton._ Alex sent himself a poop emoji.   
  
“Hey, I hate to interrupt y’all and your ode to French joy, but um, Thomas, I was actually meaning to ask you something.” John said. Alex tried not to listen. _I don’t care. I don’t care what he has to say, these people don’t even like you, Alex.  
  
Their damn loss.  
  
_ “Yeah, of course, John. What is it?” Thomas’ voice always sounded like he was plotting against someone. _Probably me.  
  
_ “I’ve been constantly wondering ever since this asshat here”-he nudged Alex’ shoulder who looked up from his phone with his eyebrows lifted - “walked into our lives and your shop, if maybe you would be willing to maybe give him a job here. Because the rent is escalating. And he needs to live and pay rent and Wi-Fi and electrical bills and comfort food and so he needs a job and he really wants to work here. Am I right , Hamilham?” Alex felt how his mouth opened, but nothing came. None of his thought made it past his tongue that felt heavy in his throat.  
John looked at Alex’ dumbfounded expression with the widest smirk.  
  
_No.  
  
Fuck, no I can’t work here. John, you know I can’t work here. Because I can’t stay here, I want to but I can’t, I can’t, no-  
  
_ Alex’ heart was racing, tumbling, and he wanted to shout but his voice was gone. _No, no, no, I can’t work here, just say no to this you idiot of a flower shop owner, please just say that I made a bad enough first impression that you don’t want to see me in this store ever again-  
  
_ “Ummmm…” Thomas was eyeing Alex, then his wristwatch, and then, he was grabbing his shoulder bag. “Oh, damn, I completely forgot the time. Jemmy, would you join me, please? Eliza, will you please take care of… this? I really gotta go… do… some very urgent stuff.” And then, he was standing and grabbing Madison’s arm and pulling him and his dumbstruck expression across the flower shop with everyone’s wide eyes following them.  
  
“Thomas, wait! You only just arrived, you haven’t even put your bag down yet! What stuff do you have to do?” Eliza hurried after them, trying to grasp Jefferson’s sleeve. Thomas turned around once before he reached the door and pointed his finger at Madison with a wide smirk towards Eliza.  
  
“ _This_ stuff. Take care of Lauren’s boyfriend.” He slurred, winking as Madison giggled childishly, a sound so unfamiliar and absurd that Alex couldn’t hold back a confused grin, and then he was dragging Madison out of the shop and down the sidewalk.   
  
They disappeared in the general direction of the next subway station, and Eliza dropped her arms in a slightly helpless gesture, then turning around to face the others who still hadn’t moved. Her eyes found Alex. She smiled crookedly.  
  
“Well, I guess I’ll have to do this, then.”  
  
_Oh.  
  
Oh no.  
  
Oh no.  
  
_ And she walked to the counter, getting on her knees and reaching beneath it.  
  
_No.  
  
Please, no.  
  
_ And suddenly, Alex remembered a rainy evening.  
  
_John was walking to the counter and getting on his knees, Alex’ stomach dropped at that and he felt like a fucking twelve-year-old.  
“You got a girl waiting for you? A guy?”  
  
_ In the end, what was waiting for him? What would be left of him if he left New York? What was there? Who waited for him if he returned to St. Croix without Rachel?  
  
What even was down there that he could still call home?  
  
His head was spinning as his heart pounded against his ribcage from the inside.  
  
_Promise me you’ll go out there and live your life and get what you want and show your love and be as true as you can be, no matter how high the cost, Alex, okay? Take all the opportunities I didn’t take.  
  
_ Eliza emerged from below the counter with an apron.   
  
A green, slightly dusty apron with an empty nametag that she bundled up and tossed it across the flower shop.  
  
  
_Take all the opportunities I didn’t take.  
  
  
_ Alex jumped to his feet to catch it mid-air, and Eliza smiled at him happily.  
  
“Consider yourself employed, then, sunflower boy.” She simply said, and the next thing Alex knew, Peggy, Herc, Lafayette and John caged him in a huge mess of bear-hugs, way bigger than the one that had happened because of Thomas’ arrival, and the sound of his friends cheering him along was enough to make Alex’ eyes water.  
  
“Thank you.” He said to Eliza quietly after she stepped closer. She wagged her hand in his direction. “Don’t mention it, Alex. Just don’t leave us. And _come_ to work, unlike our insufferable friends. That would be enough.” She bent towards him, kissed his cheek and then joined the hug.  
  
Alex closed his eyes and smiled to himself.  
  
_I’m taking the opportunities. Look at me, I’m taking them, Mom.  
  
_ At some point, Hercules was the first to break out of the hug. He kissed first Laf, then Peggy enthusiastically and grinned at Alex, declaring: “This has to be fucking celebrated. Lizzy, call Maria, you and I are getting some booze and then we’ll meet at our place. Oh my _god_ , this is _amazing_ , guys!” he shouted cheerfully, and Laf giggled, melting against his side with a happy sigh.   
  
Eliza looked at her sister for a moment a little incredulously, semi-discreetly mouthing something like “So you three are a thing now?”  
  
Peggy smiled widely. “There really is no need to be so shy, Betsey. Guys, are we a thing?” She looked up at the other two who were quiet and wide-eyed for a moment, caught off-guard until Herc shrugged.  
  
“I guess I’m a lucky guy, huh?” He grinned sheepishly and Peggy looked up at him, drawing her eyebrows together. “Both of you are lucky guys.” She snarled dryly. Laf chuckled and tugged at her ponytail playfully, kissed Herc’s cheek and managed to put his long arm around both his and Peggy’s shoulder.   
  
Eliza was quiet for a moment, looking at her sister apprehensively. It wasn't a judging look, not afraid or disgusted, just worried, like Eliza always looked at Peggy. Everything she wanted was for her to be happy, and if this made her happy, then Eliza was absolutely okay with it. It was as if she was just trying to make sure that it really was what Peggy wanted. She was just constantly afraid something could hurt to her little sister.   
  
A slightly uncomfortable silence build up as Eliza took in the news, but then she straightened her spine and her face lit up in the brightest and most genuine smile Alex had ever seen.  
  
“Well, congratulations on getting your heads out of your asses then! Damn, this is an eventful day. Peggy, we have to tell Angelica!” she shouted, and apparently, that was the right thing to say, because Peggy let out an enthusiastic squeal and wriggled out of Herc’s and Laf’s embrace, taking her sister’s hand and pulling her outside.  
  
John grinned to himself, whispering “I fucking knew it all along!” into Alex’ ear before they followed the others outside.  
  
They locked the shop up and parted. Eliza and Herc, being the oldest in the group walked in the other direction to the closest Walmart for booze, and Peggy, Laf, John and Alex made their way to Herc’s, Laf’s and John’s apartment – which Alex had started calling the Herclaflaurens apartment for short.   
  
The sun was already setting in the small space between the clouds and the horizon, turning their bodies into long, strange silhouettes on the concrete behind them. Alex had never liked sunsets. He preferred sunrises and their feeling of new beginnings.  
  
He and John walked a few feet in front of the others, close, as Alex noticed when John’s elbow brushed against his.  
He didn’t have the nerve to think about the chills just that touch sent down his spine, because he just still couldn’t wrap his mind around that one thing; that one thought that burned on his tongue and through his cheeks like gasoline.  
  
Why had John done this? Why was he always so kind to Alex?  
Why did he want him to work where he worked?  
  
Why did he want him to stay so badly?  
  
“John?” he coaxed out. The other boy turned his head, smiling at him.  
  
“What is it, Hamilham?” He nudged his shoulder, lifting his eyebrows when Alex didn’t say anything.  
  
“Why did you… you… you didn’t have to do this. I would have found a job myself, you know? I can look after myself.” He finally murmured, staring at his feet.   
  
John frowned and huffed a teasing laugh. “Clearly, you can’t.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
John scoffed and gestured at him vaguely. “Look at you! You’re wearing _my_ hoodie; you’re going to _my_ place to drink alcohol _Herc_ bought. And Eliza offered you a job multiple times, but you declined her offer every single time. I thought I was doing you a favor.”  
  
Alex’ eyes widened. “No! No, nonono, don’t get me wrong, John. I’m grateful. Like, really. Thank you so much for doing this, but it… it really just wasn’t necessary. Why did you do it? You don’t have to… I mean, you don’t have to carry me on your back. You just don’t have to carry my weight of burdens, too. You have enough yourself.” His voice was nothing but a murmur in the end. John frowned at him and laughed, incredulous.  
  
“Are you even listening to yourself? You are not a _burden_. That may be how you perceive it, but Alex please believe me when I’m saying that you are not a burden to me. I want you in my life. Hell, I _need_ you in my life. The street seems so much more like home now that you’re here and now that you’re staying. I did it because you’re the closest friend I’ve got. You and I, do or die, remember, querido? You’re stuck with me.” He punched Alex arm playfully and laughed, swaying in a hair so that their shoulders were touching, too.   
  
Alex felt himself frown. _This wasn’t right_. It wasn’t right that all John got from getting him a job was another package of sadness in his life.  
  
“You don’t have to burden yourself with me.” He whispered. John looked at him for a moment, then he slung his arm around Alex’ shoulder and rested his forehead against Alex’ temple.  
  
“But I _want_ to.” He breathed into his ear, the words so packed with fondness and adoration that butterflies swarmed up in Alex’ belly.   
  
His friend’s breath was warm and close against the side of his face, smelling like the coffee from the flower shop. Alex tried to keep his eyes open or pull away, but his knees were weak and his head was swimming with oversensitivity, so the only thing he could actually do without falling over was letting out a shallow breath and melting even further into John’s side.  
  
“I owe you a bottle of cold Champagne.” He said breathily in an attempt to recollect himself. John pulled away all of a sudden, leaving Alex swaying on his feet a little and laughed.  
  
“Jesus. You better get to work then, Champagne isn’t cheap. But I’ll definitely get back to you on that one.” He turned around to the others and shouted something that Alex didn’t quite understand; he only heard that the other’s laughed at it. John had probably just told the others about the drink he owed him to make sure he kept his promise.   
  
But Alex couldn’t bring himself to care, because suddenly, his phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he pulled it out and unlocked it and saw an email from somebody he hadn’t expected.  
  
_What the_ _hell_ did the University of Philadelphia want from him? Alex looked around; John was talking to Peggy and Laf behind him, he was alone, so he quickly opened the email and started reading.  
  
_Dear Mr. Alexander Hamilton,  
  
We are pleased to tell you that you have been accepted to the University of Philadelphia as one of our scholarship students for the next semester.  
  
_ That was all Alex had to read to remember.   
  
He had applied for this scholarship last summer. He could still remember sitting at Rachel’s feet on her bed, scrolling through scholarships and universities to apply to on his notebook, reading articles and reviews to Rachel and trying to find a couple of fitting classes with her that he would like to visit.  
  
He’d chosen five, and he’d been accepted into two so far, one of them being Columbia, but this had been the one he wanted to go to the most. He’d always wanted to go to Philadelphia University.  
  
But now he had a job here. He was in love. He had friends, and a home, and a _life_ here.   
  
And thinking about leaving made Alex’ heart ache terribly. He looked back at his friends who were bantering about how they’d find Herc a second identity so that he could get married to both Laf and Peggy, and he wanted to cry at the realization that came to him.  
  
He didn’t want to leave. Never.  
  
This email really couldn’t possibly have worse timing.  
  
“Hey, Alex, where the hell are you going?” John shouted into his thoughts, and Alex quickly shoved his phone back into his pocket and spun on his heel, only now noticing that the others had stopped walking at the apartment building’s entrance a few feet away.  
  
Alex shook his head to clear his thoughts before hurrying to meet his friends on the doorstep.  
  
  
**They walked the familiar stairs up to the 7 th floor** and Laf unlocked the apartment door, happily skipping to his room to get something while the others gathered in the living room.  
  
John dropped himself on the couch and Alex sat down on the other end, placing his feet in John’s lap and tipping his head back. The sun pooled in through the west window and Peggy sat on the floor, singing something slow and quiet while Alex closed his eyes and John watched him breathe.  
  
It had somehow become his favorite thing to do. Watching Alex’ chest rise and fall in his even, unique rhythm had something so soothing and homely that John could never bring himself to stop.   
It was an addiction, but a healthier one than the one Laf brought with him from his room with a happy “Bonjour!”  
  
Alex opened his eyes lazily. Peggy didn’t stop singing, not even when Alex let out a shrill, choked sound, staring at Laf and the small plastic bag he was holding.  
  
“Is that weed?” he exclaimed. Laf snorted. “No, it’s thyme. Yes, it is weed, mon cœur. Est-ce que tu as peur?”  
  
He tossed John the bag and dropped himself next to Peggy in the sunlight on the living room carpet. He listened to her song adoringly for a moment before joining her.  
  
John smiled at them softly from the couch as he started rolling a joint. The two of them and Herc were incredibly cute together. He was so glad that his friends had figured the whole love-triangle situation out. It had been so painful to watch them all fall apart because of it, and their solution was probably the best they could possibly have found.  
  
Alex was watching him and his quick, professional hands with wide eyes.  
  
“Where did y’all even get that?” he breathed in awe. John shrugged with a wolfish grin and a wink. “Everybody’s got a cousin who can hook them up with something.” He said. Alex huffed a laugh, turning his head to look at the window.  
  
“My image of you is becoming less and less cute-florist-with-curls-and-a-smile-and-anxiety-and-a-sketch-pad, Laurens, and more and more dangerous-trust-fund-baby-who-for-some-reason-didn’t-spend-his-money-on-a-nice-apartment.”he muttered. John cooed. “You really think I’m cute?”   
  
Alex looked at him dumbfounded for a second, and then rolled his eyes, blushing. “No, I don’t.” he snarled, and his lips parted a little while he watched the motion of John’s tongue as he licked the edge of the paper, finished the joint and grinned at Alex shyly.   
  
At least he tried to grin. He was just sort of preoccupied with the heat that Alex’ eyes on him had managed to make pool beneath his skin.   
  
“I’m totally cute, Hamilton. And you totally think I’m cute, too.” He smiled brightly and then snapped his fingers in Laf’s general direction. The Frenchman quickly interrupted his duet with Peggy to toss him a lighter that he had been fidgeting with and John caught it mid-air, taking the joint between his lips and lighting it, inhaling and reveling in the fact that Alex couldn’t take his widened eyes off of him.  
  
_Oh, he totally thinks I’m cute. Thank god he sits over there.  
  
_ John exhaled and took the joint in his hand, holding it out to Alex. “You wanna?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow, and Alex nodded hesitatingly, reaching out to take the joint from John’s hands.  
  
John watched him turn it in his hands and stare at it like it was a gun for a while. At some point, Alex rolled his eyes quickly, murmured a quiet “Fuck it.” and took it between his lips, taking a tentative drag.  
  
John giggled when he grimaced, coughed dryly and passed the joint back to him.  
  
“Not your thing?”   
  
Alex shook his head. “Not my thing. I shouldn’t smoke _anything_. I quit cigarettes a couple of years ago, basically when I realized that they could cause cancer. Weed can’t be any better. I’ll just stick with booze when the others arrive. I can do booze.” He shrugged, and John took a drag, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth and smiling a small smile at Alex, who was still just staring at him.  
  
“Shame. I was sort of excited to find out what you’re like stoned.” He couldn’t hold back. Alex blushed. “Let’s just say I’m not a cool person when I’m sober, and weed doesn’t really help that.” He muttered, and John laughed, when suddenly, the front door to the apartment flung open and Herc jumped down the hallway, Eliza, Maria and Angelica in tow.  
  
“Hey bitches! We come back with more booze and chips!” he shouted. Laf narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s my catchphrase.” He snarled while Eliza dropped multiple tall bottles and a six-pack of beer on the kitchen table. “So we stole it.” Herc declared and grinned at Maria, who was throwing bags of chips at Alex and John. The two of them screeched. John started yelling at her that there was fire here and that she might accidentally burn them alive if she kept throwing things while Alex threw a couple of pillows back at her.  
  
The seven of them managed to somehow all fit themselves artfully on the living room couch and started drinking wine from the bottle, passing the joint around and talking about Alex and his employment and serious issues such as what each of them didn’t like about macaroni with cheese and why the government tolerated the fact that sea turtles and whales were dying on the US coasts.  
  
As the evening turned into the night and the sun set behind the building across the street, another joint was rolled and the amount of alcohol in everyone's blood system rapidly increased, the issues got less and less important. Maria had fallen asleep on Eliza's lap, Peggy and John had gotten Alex' to allow them to braid his hair and Angelica and Herc started playing Sing-Star noisily without plugging the microphones into the PlayStation accidentally.  
Everyone was getting giddier and their voices more slurry, they all draped themselves artfully over one another in a pile of arms and legs and hair, John and Alex right in the middle. Angelica and Herc were still breathlessly singing “The final countdown” on repeat. Peggy mindlessly petted Alex’ hair, but Alex paid her no mind; he was too caught up in staring at John and giggling stupidly every now and then.   
  
The alcohol and smoke in their bodies had absolutely ruined any kind of sense of personal space and lines between platonic cuddling and _something else_. Their faces were inches from one another, and there was always somebody moving in the gigantic pile of people they had formed, pushing them even closer together.  
  
Not that John particularly minded. He didn’t think that in his state, ‘ _minding’_ anything was actually humanly possible. But why should he mind? Having Alex this close to him was a rare and wonderful pleasure.   
  
He didn’t even care that all his friends were in the room with them while they were staring and giggling at each other; all he cared about was the only thought his mind could come up with, the thought of _tonight I’m so going to kiss this guy. Tonight is the night I’m finally going to kiss this guy.  
  
_ And _yes_ , maybe that was a bit optimistic. But John just _really_ wanted to be optimistic about this.  
  
Another hour later, at midnight, Eliza, Maria, Peggy and Angelica left, not without fighting Herc and Laf on whether or not Peggy was staying the night. In the end, the girls all left, and suddenly, the apartment was very quiet, which led to a moment of self-consciousness.   
  
The living room was a train wreck, and John was snuggling his best friend on the couch, and Laf was moaning that he wanted a cheese sandwich, and he was fucking _drunk of his ass.  
  
_ The room was spinning just a little and the only thing to hold onto was Alex.  
  
So John did.  
  
He pressed himself even closer and grabbed Alex arm, slurring something he didn‘t even understand himself, but Alex seemed to do, because he said something along the lines of “Let’s get you two fucking idiots some cheese sandwiches then. John, will you help me find the cheese?”  
  
John let himself be pulled to his feet and led to the kitchen by Alex. It was cold in here, somebody had opened the window, and the bright lights and the cool night air really did help John feel a bit more of himself. He padded to the fridge and got cheese while Alex looked for toast and seasoning in all the wrong places, helplessly digging through drawers looking for cardamom and pepper, so John walked up behind him, reached over his shoulder and opened a cupboard for him. Alex glanced at him over his shoulder and smiled shyly as John got the seasonings out of the cupboard and put them on the counter, leaned against it and looked at his socked feet.   
  
The brightness of the kitchen really made him feel a lot more sober, so he decided there were some thigs he really wanted to tell Alex and took a breath, murmuring Alex’ name.   
  
Alex started cutting the cheese. “What is it?” he asked. John looked up at him, at the side of his face and his small, happy smile and his nose and his eyes and the stubble on his chin and the loosening, messy braids Peggy had done.  
  
_Alex, you’re so beautiful.  
  
Alex, I really, really love you.   
  
_ But of course he couldn’t just say that.  
  
“You know, what I said earlier, I meant it.”   
  
His throat felt sore. He licked his lips, swallowing.  John didn’t know where this was coming from. He was just thinking off the top of his head, and Alex was still not looking at him.  
  
His hands had stalled, but he didn’t say anything, so John went on.  
  
“When you said I didn’t have to burden myself with you. And I said that I wanted to. I meant that. Just like I meant the part about you being my best friend. Hey, can you please look at me? For just a second?”   
  
There was a stretch of silence.  
  
Alex sighed quietly and finally lifted his head. His eyes were wide, his pupils wider, and John felt like he was drowning in them.  
  
“You’re the closest friend I’ve got. Please don’t leave. I know you want to at some point, I’m not dumb. So I’m here to tell you, please don’t.” He said quietly, his voice shaking just a little.  
  
“Why are you telling me this?” Alex whispered after another stretch of silence. John lifted his eyes to look at him, swaying in a hair.  
  
_Now we’re kind of really close. What is he looking at? What’s so interesting about my damn mouth?_ John licked lips, the lips that Alex was staring at, and tried to keep his eyes on the upper half of his friend’s face.  
  
“Because, I don’t know, Alex, you’re… you’re such a great friend, you’re smart and creative and I mean, I constantly fuck shit up between us…”  
  
“…No, you don’t, that’s me…”  
  
“… and I am such a mess and I am really sorry for being such a mess, but Alex, you’re way out of my league, you’re a fucking hurricane and I’m a breeze, at best, and it’s just already so weird and amazing that you’ve stopped doing what you’re doing like you’re running out of time for long enough just to give _me_ , me of _all_ people, a second glance, and I just, I just don’t deserve you, but I wish I did, every day I wish I did, every day, I wish I was enough for you and I’m sorry for sounding so desperate but Alex-“ he paused and drew in a heavy breath, realizing that he’d said all this in one breath and that he had made a small step towards Alex, leaving only half and arm’s length between them. He could feel Alex breathe, and the heat radiating off the other boy’s body was dizzying. John couldn’t resist anymore and let his eyes fall to Alex’ lips, sighed. They were pink and slightly chapped and looked so kissable, and John eyed Alex’ slightly startled face, then sighed again “- Alex, you’re so _beautiful_.”   
  
And the next thing John knew, Alex dropped the knife, abandoned the cheese sandwich, grasped the front of John’s sweatshirt and closed the gap.  
  
John gasped when Alex kissed him. Blood was roaring in his ears like waves as his eyelids fluttered shut and his heart was pounding heavily in his chest, every cell in his miserable body singing and imploding with adrenaline because _I’m kissing Alexander Hamilton, I’m kissing Alexander fucking Hamilton and he is kissing me, and my God, is this really happening? This can’t really be happening, right?  
  
_ Alex’ arms wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him closer as Alex sighed happily into the kiss, soft and longing and delicious, gentle and sweet lips on John’s driving him mad. Alex tasted a bit like alcohol, but mostly like _him_ , and all John could think about was that kissing Alex wasn’t hard, nothing like the boys he’d kissed before, not angry, not too fierce, but also not too soft or too sloppy.   
Alex did it just the right way, he was eager and adaptable and kissed without resolve, his arms gripping John tightly and his hands roaming everywhere, his back and his hair and his hips and his neck.   
  
It was maddening and beautiful and it felt like coming home, and John just couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without it.  
  
They were both out of breath when they pulled away just an inch, John’s hands still tangled in Alex’ hair and Alex’ arms still around his neck. They looked at each other out of wide, adoring, blown eyes.  
  
“You, too?” Alex simply whispered, and John laughed breathily, brushing his fingers over Alex’ cheekbone and smiling at his friend softly as he eyed his flushed face.  
  
“Me, too.” John whispered back, and this time, it was him who leaned in.   
  
Alex was the first to slide his tongue across John’s bottom lip, tentative and hot and soft, and the feeling took John by surprise enough to draw a small gasp from his lips. Alex took it all in his stride, and the moment he licked into John’s mouth, his knees gave out a bit and he weakly angled his jaw down to meet Alex, who melted against his touch, moaning quietly into John’s mouth. He nipped at John’s lower lip, biting gently and now it was John’s time to moan.   
  
John breathed Alex’ name desperately, followed by another one of those sinful moans when the other boy left his swollen lips and slammed him against the kitchen counter, pinned him in place with his hips and started mouthing against his jaw line.  
  
A distant voice in the back of his head reminded him that Laf and Herc were still in the next room, but now Alex had found his pulse and was nipping at the sensitive skin of his neck, and John couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. He buried his hand in Alex’ loose hair and breathed his name in an unfamiliar, longing voice.  
  
A _re we really doing this right now? With Laf and Herc awaiting their cheese sandwiches on the couch and with enough alcohol in our bloodstream to poison a semi-gigantic dog?  
  
_ “Alex…” he managed. Alex just shushed him and pressed himself closer, and John could feel something against his crotch, _something hot and hard._ _Is that…?  
  
_ He moaned, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. _God_ , he wanted this. He’d wanted it for so, so long, and now that he could have it, now that it was just inches away from him, he couldn’t take it. John groaned in frustration and it took him all his will power to loosen his grip on Alex.  
  
_I want to do this when we’re sober. I want this to mean something.  
  
_ “Alex, I…” _  
  
_ Alex finally left the spot on his neck and looked up at John with wide eyes and swollen lips, and John held back another moan. He looked so absolutely wrecked, his eyes burning with an almost hungry desire, and all John wanted to do was kiss Alex, kiss him, kiss him _, and kiss him_ until they both couldn’t breathe. He had licked blood, he wanted _more_ and he wanted _Alex_ and he wanted him _now_ , but not like this.  
  
“John. Don’t stop” Alex breathed, looking up at him pleadingly, and John took his face in both his hands, looking him in the eye.  
  
“The cheese sandwich, Alex.” He muttered “Baby Girl, this isn’t the right time.”  
  
Alex tipped his head back and groaned quietly. “ _That nickname_ is _not_ helping, you asshat. Ugh, now I can finally tell you what that does to me. I don’t even have a Daddy kink. Only when you say it.” He looked back at John and smiled at him softly, and John felt himself grin, too.  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He whispered, running his hand through Alex’ hair. It was inky and soft and wonderful, John never wanted to stop touching it.   
  
Alex watched his own hands roam over John’s chest with an awestruck expression. “My _God_. You have absolutely _no_ idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you this way, John. You have. _No. Idea_.” He said, and with that, he dove back in, catching John’s lips with his own in a sloppy kiss that lasted long and tasted like alcohol and domesticity. And John _loved_ it.  
  
They parted at some point due to their friends’ voices that came from the living room.  
  
“Can you two stop making out or should we leave?”  
  
“I want a cheese sandwich and you, Alexander Hamilton, made a treaty with me that you were going to make it. But now you and Laurens ruined my appetite anyway, so that’s cool. Sacre bleu, mon chéri, were we like that?”  
  
“I don’t think so. But those two really took a long time. Let them enjoy their first kiss.”  
  
“It’s not the first anymore. It’s at least the third or something.”  
  
“What the hell, Laf, you counted? _Gross_.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, you two! We’re having a moment here!” John shouted, and Alex smirked up at him, mouthing ‘ _A moment_.’ And then leaned in and started covering John’s neck in breathy, hot kisses.  
  
“Yes, we’re _painfully_ aware of your _moment_! We heard you _moan_ , Laurens, Laf is scarred for life and you have to pay the funeral bill!” Herc shouted back, and John rolled his eyes, using all his will power to push Alex off of him and take his right hand instead.  
  
“Cheese sandwiches.” He said dryly, and Alex nodded with a deep, happy sigh.  
  
“Fucking cheese sandwiches. Fucking hell.” He muttered.  
  
They made said sandwiches and sat down on the tiles of the kitchen while they were in the oven, quietly asking each other ‘How long?’, ‘Why?’ and ‘Why did it take us so long to get here?’ questions and sharing sweet kisses – there were cooing sounds from the living room and John threw a kitchen towel into the hallway with an angry noise – until the sandwiches were done. They took them to the living room where they were greeted by Laf and Herc, who were just grinning at them widely, humming a wedding march, at which Alex kicked Herc in the shin.  
  
They ate, and luckily, Herc and Laf soon got bored of teasing the two of them and started discussing what seasoning had to go on cheese toasties – lots of cardamom, they decided – and in a quiet moment, John took Alex hand.  
  
Neither of them let go.  
  
At 2am, they all decided that it was time to go to bed to soothe their inevitable hangovers. Alex and John sat up in John’s bed for a little longer, talking, until Alex said he was going to sleep and stood, like he did every night. He always slept on the couch in the living room and presumed that hadn’t really changed, but before he was out of the door, John laughed to himself quietly behind him. Alex turned halfway.  
  
“What?” he asked curiously. John shook his head to himself in disbelief, lifting his hands and dropping them again in a vague gesture.  
  
“I was just thinking that I don’t want you to go.” He murmured, smiling sheepishly.  
  
And so Alex, who had never been good at saying no to things, walked back into the room and crawled underneath the covers with John, who turned off the light and pulled him up to his chest, pressed a kiss to his neck and nuzzled into him with a soft smile.  
  
They lay in the dark for a while, breathing in unison and listening to the sounds outside, cars and the elevated train passing, sirens in the distance, night owls shouting in the street. It was quiet until Alex opened his mouth and drew in a shaky breath, looking at the window in the dark.  
  
“I think I love you.” He breathed. John lifted his head and looked at the side of Alex’ face, his lips slowly spreading into a small smile.  
  
“Really?” he asked, giggling quietly.  
  
“Really.” Alex replied, and that was all it took for John to lean in.  
  
Alex grinned against John’s lips and turned his head, angling his jaw up and pulling John closer by the neck. It was a tired, neither-of-us-brushed-their-teeth-kiss, but by the time their teeth clashed and they both pulled away to laugh quietly, they were both out of breath.   
  
It was their fourth kiss tonight, and it was the best one so far.   
  
John sank back into the pillow and ran his hand through Alex’ hair carefully, opening the braids and nuzzling into his neck, covering it in gentle pecks. “Well. That’s good, Hamilton, because I, John Laurens, I happen to think that I love you, too.” He mumbled into Alex’ ear, his hot breath visibly leaving goose bumps on the other boy’s skin.  
  
And _God_ , how easy it now was to say it out loud.  
  
They lay in silence until they fell asleep in each other’s arms, and John, for the first time in a long time, couldn’t bring himself to be afraid of the morning light to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes there's going to be sex calm down.  
> I have no idea how the american education system with scholarships and all that jazz works don't judge me pls.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this mess! Kudos and Comments are alwaysalwaysalways appreciated! (Please tell me how bad the outmaking(?) was and be honest.)  
> So I was wondering if y'all wanted to know more about the background-pairings, because when I'm done with this thing (in October or something haha) I might just make this a series and post some Jeffmads and Marliza and Magic Trio for you? Only if you're interested though. Please let me know. :)  
> Also I could use some cute fluff for the next chapters, if any of you have any ideas or requests, please feel free to tell me!
> 
> Translations:  
> 'Ay dios mio!'  
> ~ 'Oh my God!'  
> 'Mon ami! Ah, mon cœur Thomas, ça va?'  
> ~ 'My friend! Ah, my dear Thomas, how are you?' (obviously)  
> 'Est-ce que tu as peur?'  
> ~ 'Are you scared?' (Laf pressuring people into smoking weed is not ony of my kinks in case you were wondering)
> 
> I'll see you in two weeks or something, I don't really know when the next chapter is going to happen, soz. Let's just say it's going to happen at some point. And I hope y'all stick with me. Hugs! ♥


	9. Laurens, I like you a lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Sunday, and that means John and Alex don't have to go to work. It also means they have the apartment to themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back!! It's been a while.
> 
> This chapter is sinful and unbeta'd. Contains explicit sex scenes and a bit of namecalling on the Baby Girl-front. I was actually itending to write only a lil smut but that spun out of control pretty quickly so.
> 
> Also please send me some ideas as to on what dates these two dorks could go. Please don't leave me when I'm helpless. :'(
> 
> Okay. I think that's it.  
> I'll leave you to it! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

  
  
_7:30 am  
**  
**_ Alex awoke to the soft sound of John’s voice, purring his name.  
  
“Alex…querido… wake up…”  
  
He made a quiet, muffled noise. His cool feet brushed the warm skin of someone’s thigh.   
  
Alex frowned but wasn’t quite willing to leave his dreamless sleep behind yet and retreated further into the pillow, or whatever that soft thing beneath him was.  
  
“Hey… honestly, I’m sorry to wake you but you have a job now, dipshit… and… that job really needs to be done…”  
  
“Fuck work.” Alex slurred and reluctantly cracked his eyelids open with a groan only to hiss at all the bright colors of John’s room attacking him and burrow himself back in not his pillow, but John’s chest. He’d thought – feared – that he wouldn’t remember anything that had happened yesterday, but unlike the first time he’d gotten drunk with the squad, last night wasn’t blurry at all.  
  
He remembered _everything_.   
From Jefferson’s return to getting a job, from smoking weed with the others in the late hours of the day to the Schuyler sisters and Maria leaving, from Laf’s and John’s cheese sandwiches to John saying a thousand words in a nervous, drunk voice, from pulling him in to the moment he’d kissed him.  
  
_I kissed him. I kissed John.  
  
_ Alex opened his bleary eyes again, wincing at the sunlight that pooled in through the window and onto their tangled – _tangled?! –_ limbs beneath John’s blue blanket. He looked up at the boy in his arms, lifting his head from his chest just enough to see John smile at him.  
  
“Rise and shine, Hamilton.” He purred, and Alex scrunched his nose up, dropping back on his chest, exhausted from just that little motion. There was a pounding in his head that he chose to _just ignore, maybe it’ll go away_.  
  
“What time is it?” Alex breathed in, nuzzling into John’s vanilla-scented grey t-shirt and yawning a little.  
  
“Half to eight.”  
  
“Why the fuck would you wake me at half to eight.”  
  
John chuckled, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “That’s your normal wake-up time as a person _with a job_ now. Well, actually, the actual time we open the shop is 8am, so in fact, we have to get up at half to seven, but I thought, since it’s your first day, and a Sunday, too, we don’t even open on Sundays, I am just trying to be as annoying as possible, I thought I’d let you sleep a little longer.”  
  
Alex ripped his eyes open, making an angry noise of disapproval. “Why would you do this to me? I don’t have to work on Sundays and you _still_ wake me? That’s just fucking cruel! You’re a shitty boyfriend.”  
  
“Oh, so we’re boyfriends now?”  
  
“I’m merely offering you an opportunity here.”  
  
“I’ll think about it.” John teased. “You are a lucky guy by the way; Laf actually does have to work on Sunday. And Herc always goes with him. It’s just Eliza and you and me who can sleep in on Sundays and don’t have to work.” And with that, John leaned down and caught Alex’ mouth in a sloppy, lazy kiss.  
  
_Shit.  
  
_ Well, Alex was _definitely_ awake now. And there went his rule of always sleeping in on Sundays, right out of the window when John licked into his mouth shamelessly, his fingers skimming over the back of Alex’ t-shirt.  
  
He sighed against John’s lips deeply and melted into his touch, running his hands up the sides of John’s face – stubble, flushed skin, heat – and into his hair. He let himself be kissed for what felt like hours, John’s mouth taking him apart slowly, and he was coming undone, letting out small, whiny breaths in between their kisses.   
  
He was so caught up in the feeling of it all that he lost track of time entirely.   
  
He just couldn’t believe it; he couldn’t believe _any of this_.   
  
Not just the feeling of John’s body, pressed flush against his, not just their mouths, discovering each other through hot, breathless kisses and roaming hands, but also the incredible, addicting feeling of knowing that his love was returned.  
  
_That’s good, Hamilton, because I, John Laurens, I happen to think that I love you, too_ , that’s what John had said last night, or, actually this morning. And when he kissed him like this, open-mouthed and longing in the light of the rising sun, Alex knew that this was just the beginning; that their story was only on its first page.  
  
Alex had been in John’s bed countless times before, but it felt so different when John lay him down in it.   
  
The sheets weren’t as soft and the pillow wasn’t as gentle as the press of John’s lips against his lips, his friend’s tongue against his and the blanket wasn’t as warm as the reassuring weight of John’s body as he settled in between Alex’ legs that spread on their own account, welcoming John home.   
  
John’s skin was hot and delicate and smooth and his hands caressed and his nails scratched, just a tad bit too long, and his mouth, _oh, his mouth_ , Alex could compose poetry about it.  
  
John could do so many things with it that drove Alex mad. Only a smile from it could make Alex feel dizzy. Just the quirk of the corners of his lips when he smiled about something only he understood, or a picture or a text on his phone, and Alex felt like getting on his knees and propose.   
  
_Or do other things.  
  
_ John’s words were beautiful, too, in Spanish and French and English all the same, when it formed words it formed palaces out of paragraphs, it built cathedrals, and Alex couldn’t look away.  
  
But all of that, all those things were defeated and torn down by what John’s lips could do on Alex’ skin.  
  
He sucked and kissed and licked and bit, leaving marks from head to toe, neck and throat and inner thigh, and all Alex could do beneath him was tremble and gasp and hold on to whatever he could get his hands on, sometimes John’s shoulders, sometimes his hair or the back of his neck, or the bedsheets or the edge of the mattress.  
  
Their bodies fit against each other seamlessly like puzzle pieces, like John’s lips had been made only to caress Alex and mark him up, sucking on his collar bone and nipping velvet bruises into his skin. Part of Alex knew he wasn’t going to be able to hide that later; most of him was too far gone to care.   
  
John took him apart more or less slowly; he took his time, but if Alex thought about it, he would have been ready and begging for him from the moment John’s hands slid beneath his t-shirt for the first time. He was already embarrassingly hard in his boxers, couldn’t get his eyes to open, chewing on his lower lip to keep those pathetic little noises in and _John was only just getting started_.   
  
When John noticed how Alex was biting down on his lip, he returned to his mouth, whispered “Let me do that for you. You need to fucking stop biting your lips or I guarantee you, I will give you random blowjobs in public.” and Alex let out a soft groan that seemed to go straight to John’s dick, judging by the look that flickered across his slightly disheveled features.   
  
Their lips met again, needier this time when John took Alex’ lower lips between his teeth and tugged. Alex sucked in a sharp breath, which John just swallowed with the wet press of his mouth latching onto his again.  
  
After what felt like hours of roaming, John’s hands finally settled on Alex’ hips, pressing him into the mattress and pinning him in place while Alex held on to the back of his neck with shaking hands, pulling him close with desperate moans falling from his lips as John started breathing kisses against the skin just below his ear.  
  
Alex whined his name, writhing beneath his touch and buried his fingers in John’s hair with a gasp when he felt the growing pressure of John’s erection pressed against his thigh.  
  
“ _John_ … what about…. Herc… Laf? Are-” John left the spot he’d been kissing and sat back on his heels, eyeing Alex’ body spread beneath him with a cocky grin, like Alex beneath him, a whining, sweating mess, a mess he’d made was a sight he could get used to.  
  
“ _God_ , you’re hot.” He growled, pulling Alex up into a sitting position by the collar of his t-shirt and slinging his arms around his neck, mouthing against his jaw-line.  
  
“But… Laf and Herc…” Alex attempted again. John shushed him, pushing him back down into the pillow and burying him beneath the weight of his body.  
  
“I told you, they’re at work. Returning at six. They left a note in the kitchen. Today, this apartment is ours, Baby Girl.” He smiled against Alex ear, his breath low and hot, and that was enough to make Alex moan again. He struggled for purchase on John’s shoulders as John dove back in.  
  
“Too many clothes.” Alex rasped, tugging at the front of John’s t-shirt, and John seemed to agree. He leaned back and pulled his t-shirt over his head, making quick work of Alex’, too. There was a moment of panting and staring, hungry eyes with wide pupils grazing over tan skin and muscle and chub, freckles, moles and sweat. Alex stretched his arm out to trace his fingers over John’s abdomen in breathless awe.  
  
“You know, the first time I saw you and your freckles in the shop, I immediately asked myself if you had them everywhere.” He whispered mindlessly, and John made a noise in the back of his throat, something that had vague resemblance to a breathed “Jesus.” and slammed Alex back down in a kiss.  
  
“And now, it turns out that you do. And it’s just beautiful. What a privilege that I get to see this. Oh _shit_ -” Alex groaned as John started kissing down his chest, nipping and licking at his over-sensitive skin. Alex pushed at his hips until John broke away long enough for Alex to pull his boxers down. The cool air against his hard, erect cock made John shudder visibly, and Alex giggled; he was so fucking giddy, and John was _so fucking beautiful_.  
  
“Well, you seem… excited.” He teased, lightheaded. John rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh, then leaned down to shut Alex up again by torturing his mouth with open-mouthed, hungry, devouring kisses, until Alex was letting out long, strained moans and breathing his name like a prayer.  
  
John took his time with the removal of Alex’ boxers. He pulled them down so slowly, driving Alex mad with hot breaths against his bulge and sharp, toothy, sucking kisses on the soft, sensitive skin of his thighs. Alex was alternating between gripping the sheets and tugging at John’s loose curls by now, shouting obscenities, his voice broken with arousal as he begged, pleaded for more.   
  
John didn’t need much more persuasion.  
  
He pulled the fabric off of Alex’ trembling legs, kissed his way up again and took Alex’ hard cock into his mouth without warning, and Alex couldn’t hold back a choked, dry sob at the sudden warmth and wetness of John’s mouth around him, his eyes rolling back in his head with a long, high-pitched moan.  
  
John eased him in as far as he could, then further, letting the head of Alex’ member brush the back of his throat. He gagged softly around him, and Alex lifted his head, panting as he looked down at John.  
  
“Are you okay? You don’t…. have to-” he managed, running his shaking hand through John’s sweaty curls. In response, John flicked his eyes up at him, and Alex thought he might just cry.   
  
His eyes were wide and his pupils wider, his lips dark pink, wet with saliva and swollen around his cock, and John reached up to take Alex hand, grasping his fingers tightly, and then started moving.  
  
Alex gasped for air, his hand instinctively burying itself in John’s curls as he moved up and down his shaft, humming softly whenever Alex moaned or groaned or shouted his name. His mouth and tongue were deceitfully talented, wet and sinful, taking Alex apart who started praising him in a slurry, sex-crazed voice, his hand coming to the back of John’s head to guide his motions, telling John _how good he was_ , _how well he was doing_ and to _not ever stop_ as Alex fucked into his mouth. Now, _John_ was moaning, too, because Alex was warm and thick and a nice weight in his mouth, and his hand in his hair was reassuring, and he was aching with need.  
  
The skin of Alex’ plush thighs was soft and hot and pressed against his cheeks, but John pulled away all of a sudden, shuddering at the loss of contact as he left Alex’ cock glistening with wetness. Alex groaned in frustration, thrusting his hips after John’s retreating mouth. He lifted his head slowly to glance down, breathing a shallow “John. _God_. Don’t stop.”  
  
John was looking at him with cloudy eyes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and then pointing it vaguely at the bookshelf.   
  
“There’s, um” he rasped. “There- there’s lube... in that basket there.”  
  
Alex understood and caressed John’s cheek with his knuckles, letting his eyes linger on John’s wide, teary ones for another moment before he leaned over to the shelf and started digging through eye-drops, earplugs and an iPhone charger in the small basket-box in the shelf closest to the pillow. He soon found a small bottle of lube and a pack of condoms in between the mess and tossed them to John, who caught them, settled between Alex’ legs and then looked up at him hesitatingly.  
  
“Um. Are you… okay with this?” He trailed off. Alex let out a breathless chuckle.   
  
“John. Please, _please_ just…” He gestured vaguely at John and dropped his head back into the pillow, making a strained, impatient noise in the back of his throat while John shushed him and covered his hipbones in soft, soothing kisses. He vaguely heard the noise of condom wrappers being ripped open and looked down with cloudy eyes, watching the motion of John’s hand almost hungrily as he put it on and then returned to Alex’ hips, kissing his cock and groin and hipbones, and Alex was soon writhing and shaking under his ministration, pleadingly mouthing his name and grasping at everything he could reach by the time John’s hands settled on his knees, pushing them apart and spreading Alex wider on his bed.  
  
“Please… oh God, _John_ , fuck, fuck me, please, _please_ …” Alex croaked, mindlessly rocking his hips up. John pressed one last, soft kiss to his inner thigh, breath hot and stubble scratching on Alex’ skin, whispering “I got you, Baby Girl, don’t sweat it. I got you.” with a soft smirk and then reaching down.  
  
Alex let out a stifled cry when John carefully slid a lube-slick finger into him, arching his back and squeezing his eyes shut. John leaned up to catch his mouth in a slow kiss, swallowing every moan, every cry and every gasp Alex made while he started pumping his fingers in and out of him, scissoring and stretching until Alex was gasping with every thrust, rocking back onto his hand in a mindless, feverish attempt to ride out the sensation.   
  
John added a third finger and Alex gripped his shoulder hard, his fingers pressing bruises into Johns skin as he panted.  
  
“Fucking _hell_ , John, _get to it_. I’m ready, okay, just… please, I need…” he gasped again when John clucked his tongue, pulling out carefully.  
  
“Why so impatient?” He chuckled lowly against Alex’ ear, making him shiver and dig his fingers deeper into his arms with a sharp moan.  
  
“Because I _fucking love you_ , John Laurens, and I’ve… we’ve waited long enough… _please_ …” Alex hissed, opening his bleary eyes after what felt like hours and looking at John almost angrily. At least he tried to look angry; it wasn’t that easy with John kneeling naked between his spread legs and grinning giddily up at Alex.  
  
“Say that again.” John whispered and leaned up, caressing Alex’ cheekbone with his fingers lightly, nestling between his hips. Alex gasped, shivering with pleasure as he felt John’s hard cock pushing against him. “That you love me.”  
  
Alex carded his hand through John’s loose hair, his scowl turning into a soft, breathless and sex-crazed version of a smile.  
  
“I love you.” He breathed. John smiled down at him, brightly and happily with his eyes glistening in the morning light, and then he leaned down, kissed Alex again briefly, and started pushing in.  
  
Alex legs wrapped around his hips on their own account, his fingers tugging on John’s wonderful hair as he moaned countless “ _I love you” s_. He still couldn’t quite grasp the whole beautiful weight of the fact that he got to remind John again and again; that he could finally, _finally_ tell him how much he loved him without fear, and that John could tell him back, because _he loves me too, I can’t fucking believe it.  
  
_ They both gasped for air when John was fully in, staring at each other with wide, awestruck eyes and parted, kiss swollen lips, shaking limbs tangled.  
  
“I love you, too. God, I’ve loved you for so long. _Jesus_ , Alex. I love you. I _love_ you. It feels so unreal that this is actually happening.” John murmured. He ran a hand over Alex’ thigh with a breathless chuckle, and Alex caught his hand in the act, lifting it to his lips and kissing his knuckles gently.  
  
“It’s real, John. Hey, look at me. Are you okay?” he whispered. John blinked, like he was returning from a world far away, turned his head ever so slightly to smile at Alex and then leaned down, pressed a final, chaste kiss to Alex’ lips.   
  
Then he moved, and _my God_ , how the earth all but shifted on its axis.  
  
Alex made a noise somewhere between shock and pleasure, shuddering and arching his back off the mattress, his mouth falling open as he struggled for air.  
  
They started moving together, Alex meeting John’s steady, slow thrusts in the middle, his unattended, throbbing cock caught between their bodies, and it was so good, delicious and sweet and everything he’d never known he was missing out on. It was too much and still not enough and Alex felt how his fingernails dug little half-moons into John’s freckled back.  
  
He pulled John closer with his legs, slinging them tighter around his hips as he gasped with every thrust, his little, desperate sounds spurring John along until he picked up pace, burying his head in the crook of Alex’ neck, letting out his own stifled moans and groans.  
  
It was insane, it was ecstatic, and Alex was soaring, flying, because _this_.  
  
This was _definitely_ worth the wait.  
  
John buried himself between his legs at a vigorous, maddening pace, and all Alex could do was cry out and grip John tighter, _always tighter_ , and beg him not to stop.  
  
“God, God, oh God, John, don’t stop, don’t stop, keep going, Jesus…” He trailed off, tilting his head back with a soundless gasp and then a strained cry when John hit some spot. John groaned against the sweat-slick skin of his neck and then kissed him again, angling his hips up to search and _find_ that spot again and again.  
  
Alex couldn’t catch his breath, clutching at John’s lower back with helpless, shaking hands, so close, so _close-  
  
_ John seemed to notice. He ran his hand through Alex hair, kissing him again softly, breathless as he whispered “Come for me. You’re doing so well, Baby Girl, I love you. I got you, come for me.”  
  
And that was all it took, and Alex tensed with a gasp, spilling onto his stomach, John’s name on his lips.  
  
John followed shortly after, hiding his face in the crook of Alex’ neck with his breath hitching in his throat as he rode out his high. Alex gasped another “I love you”, letting his eyes slip shuts and carding a twitching hand through John’s sweaty hair, smoothing it away from his forehead.   
  
“I love you, too.” John managed before Alex leaned down to catch his quivering lips in a lazy, post coital kiss that made John sigh deeply, happily against him and wrap Alex up in his arms as the other boy made love to his mouth.  
  
John slid out of him eventually, tying the condom with an engrossed expression and throwing it in the general direction of the trashcan by the dresser. He cheered tiredly when he didn’t miss. Alex shivered at the sudden emptiness between his legs and pulled John tightly against him in a desperate need for replacement for John’s warmth inside of him. Come was cooling on his stomach, but he had the feeling neither of them was actually in the state to go find a rag or tissue of some kind. Alex was still struggling to catch his breath.   
  
John pressed his body against Alex’ side and took refuge in the crook of his neck again. He started pecking the fresh hickeys and tooth marks he’d left, his lips leaving what almost felt like little, unnecessary apologies as Alex ran his finger along his bare shoulder, trying and failing to get tired of eyeing and counting John’s freckles.  
  
“Alex.” John hummed against the skin of Alex’ neck after a while of listening to his breathing. Alex looked down at him adoringly and nuzzled into John’s hair. “Yeah?”   
  
“We probably need to talk about our relationship.”  
  
John grinned against his throat, and Alex couldn’t hold back giggle. “You wanna talk about our _relationship_? Why? I like it a lot. Besides, John, I don’t think there’s a lot to talk about. We just fucked.” He slurred, and John snorted. His eyelashes tickled Alex’ oversensitive skin when he blinked.  
  
“’ _Fucking’_ , pff. ‘Fucking’ sounds so… _rough,_ Hamilton. Aren’t you supposed to be the wordy one of the two of us? I prefer ‘lovemaking’.”  
  
“You’re a romantic asshat.” Alex said dryly, and John laughed, his breath hot and loud in Alex’ ear.  
  
“You _love_ it.” Alex huffed a laugh. “Well, what can I-““Wait, shh, let me rephrase that.”  
  
John rolled his head until his chin was on Alex’ chest and grinned at him, lifting his index finger.   
  
“You _like it a lot_.” He said, and then he dropped himself back into the crook of Alex’ neck, nestling into him with a self-satisfied smile playing around his lips.   
  
Alex smiled softly and tugged on one of John’s curls to get his attention back. Once John was looking at him, he pressed a peck to the tip of his nose, causing John to blink and smile wider. Alex cupped his face with his hands and looked him in the eye.   
  
“Laurens… I like _you_ a lot.” He said sincerely, and that was enough to make John blush hard, not just along his cheeks, but also along his neck, his chest and his collar bones, and Alex giggled childishly, because h _oly shit, when he blushes, he blushes everywhere.  
  
_ They fell back into their pattern of breathing together until John cringed slightly, looking down.  
  
“You have come all over you, and no offense, but it’s kind of gross. Can you give me that basket again? There should be tissues inside. And a hair tie, that would be nice.” He said, propping himself up on his elbow and waiting for Alex to pass him a pack of tissues and a black hair tie.   
  
He pulled his hair up into a messy bun and ripped the tissues open, sitting up on his knees and bending over Alex to press gentle kisses to his abdomen and wipe the spent off his stomach. Alex just watched him lovingly, reaching up to card a limp hand through his hair and murmuring quiet “Thank you”s into the sleepy silence of the apartment.  
  
**_  
_**_10:00 am  
**  
**_ “I thought you said you couldn’t cook.”  
  
Alex looked up at John smiling at him from the pancake sizzling in the pan with a shy grin, brushing his hair back behind his ear.   
  
“I never said that. I _can_ cook, I just never do it. I think it makes me look sad. And old. Like a sad, old inchworm.” He shrugged, smiling wider and looking down at his hands when John wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, breathing kisses against his neck.   
  
“I think you look hot when you cook. I mean, the way you just…” he swayed to the right, giggling, pulling Alex with him who squealed and tried to keep his grip on the pan.   
  
“… _Flip_ those pancakes and the way you throw me those _looks_ over your shoulder. And how it all just smells like pancakes. It makes me all… _hungry_ and shit.” Alex swatted his arm with the spatula at his lame joke. John snorted, leaning his forehead on Alex shoulder.   
  
“People with domestic skills are my kink. Besides, you _always_ look hot.” John nosed along the skin below his ear, his breath warm. Alex shuddered and felt his knees weaken.  
  
_My God, Hamilton, focus. Pancakes. You might burn them.  
  
_ “As hot as this pancake is?” he asked, deciding to get onboard with John’s lame joke because _he could do jokes,_ jokes didn’t make his head swim _,_ jokes didn’t breathe against his neck _,_ jokes didn’t remind him of _things_ that had happened earlier this morning.  
  
“Way hotter. _So hot_.” John moaned quietly, mouthing at his neck, and Alex felt himself getting lightheaded; heat was pooling in his groin.  
  
_For fuck’s sake. He is talking about food. Get a grip.  
  
_ John leaned closer to him, pressing himself against Alex’ back, his body heat getting underneath Alex’ t-shirt quickly, making his eyelids flutter and him itch and feel like his skin was a couple of sizes too small.  
  
“This pancake is real pretty, by the way. You’re really good at cooking. Or at least, you’re good at making pancakes. There’s so many things you’re good at, Alex. You’re amazing. _So_ _good_. So good for me.” He pressed his hips closer, and Alex could barely keep his eyes from slipping shut.  
  
Now John was _definitely_ not talking about pancakes anymore, and Alex barely had time to turn off the stove with weak fingers before John’s hands slid below the waistband of his boxers, searching and finding.  
  
He gasped when John’s hand curled around his already half-hard cock, a fierce wave of a mix of pleasure and shock overcoming him. John started stroking him lazily in a pleasant, not too fast, not too fierce rhythm, keeping him inside his boxers the whole time – Alex was starting to get slick, and a wet patch was forming on the plaid material. John pressed himself even closer and whispering _so hot’_ s and _so good’_ s into his ear.  
  
He flicked his thumb over the slit at the head of Alex’ cock, eliciting a filthy moan from his lips. Alex couldn’t feel John’s own hard cock rubbing up against him from behind, desperately searching for some kind of friction to get off on. _Wow. Okay.  
  
_ “You are… the fucking horniest person I know.” Alex panted, tipping his head back with an obscene, embarrassingly loud moan at an especially tight squeeze around his shaft. John scoffed, moving his fingers faster, his hand calm and still.  
  
“Like _you’re_ the one to talk. I was just talking about pancakes and you’re suddenly hard? Wow, Alex. You must _really_ like me. I’m honored.”  
  
Alex tried not to groan too loudly when John suddenly withdrew the warmth of his hand and whispered into his ear.  
“You know, I’m missing something. Your eyes. Your beautiful, _beautiful_ eyes. Come on, querido. Turn around for me.” His voice was soft, making Alex feel dizzy as he turned around hastily, almost falling over. John smiled quietly.  
  
“Way better.” He said, and then, his hand was on him again, working up and down Alex’ length slowly, thoroughly, like Alex was a book that John was reading and he wasn’t leaving a single word untouched. He looked straight at him the whole time, drowning in his eyes and sometimes repressing little noises when Alex moaned his name.  
  
It didn’t take very long and Alex’ bare thighs were trembling, his eyes glazed and his knees buckling with every twist of John’s hand.  
  
“You really should cook more often.” John grinned wolfishly, and Alex tipped his head back, groaning. If the sound was caused by John’s teasing comment or his up building release, John didn’t know, but the question was answered when after another tug, Alex was suddenly gripping John’s upper arm hard with a slightly startled noise and spilling over his boxers and John’s hand with a punched out moan.  
  
He collapsed against John’s shoulder, panting and closed his eyes in exhaustion while John ran his clean hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp and shushing him as he carefully unwrapped his other hand from Alex’ softening cock.  
  
“I ruined your boxers.” Alex muttered after a while. He thought of the come-soaked pair of plaid shorts on his hips, cringing a little absently.  
  
“I don’t mind.” John breathed shallowly against Alex’ skin and he suddenly remembered that the other boy hadn’t even finished yet. Alex could still see him hard and straining against his boxers when he opened his eyes.  
  
_Well, let me help you with that.  
  
_ “And there goes my plan of innocently eating pancakes together. Well fuck it, I’d rather eat you anyway.” He murmured.   
  
John was already stifling a moan before Alex had even dropped to his knees.  
  
It took approximately two minutes and he was coming down the other boy’s throat with a stifled cry and his hand buried in his hair.  
  
Afterwards, Alex decided he couldn’t focus on the pancakes anymore if he didn’t take a shower right now. He undressed on his way to the bathroom, leaving his clothes in pools on the hallways floor as he smirked at John over his shoulder – John, who couldn’t help but watch him. Alex left the bathroom door open; the shower started running.  
  
John took it as an invitation.   
  
**_  
_**_11:02 am  
**  
**_ “We’re taking that weird ‘ _kiss the cook’_ thing – that white-people-having-a-BBQ meme, you know – to a whole new level of awesomeness.”  John grinned at Alex when they were sat on the kitchen counter next to each other next to the coffee machine, devouring a shared plate of cooling pancakes.  
  
Alex shoved him playfully in response. Apple sauce dripped on his bare thigh, startling him a little.  
  
“I’d say we’re taking ‘ _I’m never getting anything done ever again when you’re around, not even a goddamn pancake._ ’ to a new level of accuracy and depressingness.” He said dryly. John made a disapproving noise, his mouth full of pancake.  
  
“Oh _please_. You’re a merciless cynic and that there, that thing you said, that’s not even a proper meme.”  
  
“But ‘ _kiss the cook_ ’ is?”  
  
“Fight me.” John snarled, swatting Alex’ arm with a kitchen towel. Alex grabbed it and swatted back. They both started giggling stupidly.  
  
“Besides, Hamilton, you’re getting _me_ done in the process of not getting anything done, okay, and if that’s not something, I don’t know what is.”  
  
It was enough to make Alex blush. He stuffed his mouth.   
  
“Eat your fucking pancakes, asshole.” He growled, hiding his face behind his loose, damp hair. There was a stretch of silence. From the corner of his eye, he could see John smile.  
  
“Did I tell you that I love you?” he asked quietly. Alex didn’t lift his head but grinned happily nevertheless.  
  
“Never often enough.” He said, and John put his pancake down, grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in to kiss him like a drowning man dying for air.  
  
  
After their breakfast, they somehow ended up in bed again, sleeping for another good two hours until John was awoken by Alex’ whiny, hungover groans. He knew those, it occurred to him, and the fact that he’d spent enough mornings after rough nights with Alex to be able to identify his noises as hungover made him smile so hard.  
  
It was just so surreal, this entire day; he couldn’t comprehend that this sun flooded, safe and warm apartment that was theirs for today was actually in the real world. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that this bed beneath him, a bed in which he got to wake up beside Alex and didn’t have to stick to his own side of the mattress, was his.  
It was just absurd that just a few hours ago, they had made love in it. That Alex had held onto him, trembling beneath his ministration. Begged him not to stop with glazed, awestruck eyes.  
  
He felt himself swallow at the thought of the events of the early morning hours.  
  
_He wants me. He loves me.  
  
_ John’s lips curled into a giddy smile.  
  
Alex groaned again, nestling further into John’s chest, gripping his t-shirt tightly. John put his arm around his shoulder and caressed his cheek gingerly in his light sleep. Grinned because _he was allowed to do this. He was allowed to touch Alex.  
  
_ God, today was paradise. John wished it would never end.  
  
“The light is fucking racist, John. Joohn.” Alex opened his hazel eyes, flinching away when the sunlight bit into them. John had come to notice that his friend’s hangovers tended to kick in later than his own; at noon, usually. Perhaps it was because of Alex’ weird, halfway nonexistent sleep schedule. Maybe his body was just confused when he actually did sleep.  
  
“Why is it racist?” He asked patiently, knowing that Alex wanted him to ask. He touched the other boy’s swollen lips, the thought occurring to him that those dark spots were _his tooth marks_ , and that those fucking gigantic, deep purple hickeys on the tan skin of Alex’ neck, _I made those. Jesus, I really fucked him up, didn’t I? It’s gorgeous.  
  
_ He ran his thumb over the always present, never growing peach fuzz on Alex’ jaw, asking himself how long it had taken Alex to grow his obnoxious, messy little goatee if that stuff grew half an inch in a million years and grinned when the other made an approving noise in the back of his throat.  
  
“The light is bright, I’m hungover, and it’s pissing me off. I am part of a racial minority in this country. The light is harassing me. Conclusion: it’s racist.” He shrugged, nuzzling against John’s neck. John grinned.  
  
“Shit, that sounds legit. Like one of those ‘Alle Dackel sind lang. Alle Dackel sind Hunde. Alle Hunde sind lang.’ things they forced me to come up with in Switzerland. Old Man Ham, your logic is _flawless_.” He teased. Alex cringed in his arms at the nickname. He lifted his head and frowned at John, unamused.   
  
“ _Old Man Ham_? You’re older than me.”  
  
“You’re wiser than me.”  
  
There was a stretch of silence, then Alex snorted a laugh and dropped himself back into John’s chest. “True.” He smirked and pressed a brief kiss to John’s collar bone, causing the other boy to shiver slightly. Then he pulled away, stealing the entirety of the blanket and getting up while John let out a hiss, wriggling in the cool air on the bare mattress.  
  
“You’re an asshole, Alex! Come back!” He whined as Alex plodded to the door, turning around to him, sleepy-faced. “I’m just getting some coffee from the kitchen. I’ll be right back, querido.” He smiled sweetly and left John shouting after him to at least leave the blanket.  
  
When he realized that it was pointless, he flipped to his stomach, shivering and cursing under his breath. His phone buzzed on the floor. He frowned and reached for it. It was Laf, texting into the group chat they shared with Herc and Alex. John yawned and pulled the pillow beneath his chest, unlocking his phone.  
  
**La Baguette  
** So Johnny Boy how is it going   
Did you do the thing yet  
**Herakles  
** Did you use protection  
**JLau  
** Go kill yourselves  
**La Baguette**  
How was it  
**JLau  
** No seriously fuck off   
**Herakle  
**???¿¿¿? Did you use protection????¿¿???¿?  
**JLau  
** You don’t even speak Spanish Mulligan  
**La Baguette  
** Don’t spit on his dreams like that  
**Herakles  
** JOHNATHAN LAURENS DID YOU AND HAMILTON USE PROTECTION  
TELL YOUR MOTHER IF YOU USED PROTECTION  
PROTECTION IS  I  M  P  O  R  T  A  N  T  
!!!!!  
**JLau  
** Okay so firstly my name is not Johnathan wtf Herc  
And also you are not my mother we agreed that Laf is the Mom friend  
**Herakles  
** Did you just assume my gender?   
WTF Laurens  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** *randomly appears*  
*randomly grabs popcorn*  
The Beef™ is starting  
**La Baguette  
** Wow so random Alex  
But lol beef  
MoOOOOoOOOOooOOoooooOOOOOOOOh   
*cow emoji*  
**JLau  
** Why am I even friends with y’all  
**La Baguette  
** Was it good  
I bet it was  
**JLau  
** Laf omg why the fuck what is wrong with you  
**La Baguette  
** I am from France we don’t have that thing called privacy   
Or how u say? Boundaries   
Yeah I don’t know what that is man  
Laurens didn’t you know I am a barbarian  
**Herakles  
** P R O T E C T I O N ????  
**La Baguette  
** Who topped I wanna know  
**Herakles  
** I bet Laurens topped lol  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I’m right here you know   
This is a group chat   
  
[La Baguette removed A-Dot-Ham from The Revolutionary Set]  
[JLau added A-Dot-Ham to The Revolutionary Set]  
**  
A-Dot-Ham  
** OKAY WHO OF YOU BITCHES KICKED ME OUT  
LAF WTF  
MARIE-JOSEPH PAUL YVES ROCH GILBERT DU MOTIER DE LAFAYETTE, YOU HAVE SOME EXPLAINGING TO DO  
**La Baguette  
** You remember my name  
Omg :0  
**JLau  
** Alex can you bring coffee from the kitchen I don’t wanna move  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Yeah of course  
And Laf yes I remember your name I have a good long term (badum tss) memory  
**Herakles  
** Why the badum tsss  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** It’s funny because his name is a long term  
**La Baguette  
** *crying*  
**Herakles  
** He’s not crying  
Laf ur a Dramatic Piece Of Garbage  
**La Baguette  
** *crying harder*  
  
[La Baguette changed the name of the group chat to I hate Hercules Mulligan]  
**  
Herakles  
** *gasps*  
Take that back!  
**La Baguette  
** Never mon cher   
**Herakles  
** Alright   
I’m leaving  
*whispers* Dramatic Piece Of Garbage  
L **a Baguette  
** *INTENSE CRYING*  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Black or milk John  
**JLau  
** Milk  
Dude you know I can’t stand black coffee   
I’m the whitest Teenage Girl u know  
I used to go to Starbucks regularly  
**Herakles  
** Eew  
**La Baguette  
** s I n  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Yeah sorry John that’s kinda gross  
I’m divorcing you  
J **Lau  
** Stop judging me   
I had to do what all the straight kids did right I was closeted and Starbucks was a straight place so    
Also @A-Dot-Ham you wouldn’t dare  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Any sugar?  
**JLau  
** You know me  
A little bit of cinnamon  
**La Baguette  
** Aren’t they cute  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** MOMFRIEND  
**La Baguette**  
No you don’t understand  
Herc, mon doudou  
They grow up so fast   
**JLau  
** About that, are we actually leaving that chat name like that  
**Herakles  
** I was going to point that out  
  
[A-Dot-Ham changed the name of the group chat to Everyone Loves Hercules Mulligan]  
**  
Herakles  
** There   
That’s better  
Thank you Alex  
At least one decent person in here   
**A-Dot-Ham  
** What can I say except you’re welcome  
**La Baguette  
** I JUST LEGIT SPAT OUT MY DRINK  
DECENT?????  
ARE YOU FOR REAL HERC? ALEX, DECENT?????? LMAO  
  
[A-Dot-Ham changed the name of the group chat to Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Fuck You]  
**  
Herakles  
** Live update: Laf did not spit out his drink  
**La Baguette  
** I 1 0 0 %  d i d  spit out my drink.  
**Herakles  
** Narrator: He did, in fact, not spit out his drink.  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** This isn’t 2015 tumblr you pieces of shit

**JLau  
** Babe I want coffee  
**La Baguette  
** bABE  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Oh no  
**Herakles  
** B A B E   
**La Baguette  
** AAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHH   
OK I’M JEALOUS  
BABE   
**A-Dot-Ham  
** John why  
**Herakles  
** ¿?? B a b e ¿¿????? ¿¿  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Oh god  
**Jlau  
** Sorry Babe  
**Herakles  
** NOW HE IS CRYING  
[sent a picture: look at him he’s just on the counter cryi…]  
**La Baguette  
** STOP JUDGING ME I’M EMOTIONAL  
  
[Herakles changed the name of the group chat to Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Emotional]  
**  
JLau  
** Good one Herc  
**La Baguette  
** THIS IS TOO PURE  
THE TWO OF YOU  
TOGETHER  
ARE TOO PURE  
FOR ME TO HANDLE  
**Herakles  
** Breathe Laf  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Okay I’m outta here  
**JLau  
** Me too  
[A-Dot-Ham left the group chat]  
[JLau left the group chat]  
  
That’s when the door was opened and Alex was back, two cups and a half empty box of butter cookies in his hands, the blanket draped across his shoulders and his phone buzzing wildly between two unoccupied fingers of his left hand.  
  
He cocked an eyebrow at John while he sat down. “ _Babe_?” he asked, and John shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “Sort of just slipped out.” He replied, and Alex huffed a laugh, placing one of the cups in John’s cool hands.   
  
“It’s probably a little too sweet.” He said, smiling at his coffee cup as he pushed his messy, loose hair away from his forehead and grabbed a cookie to dip into his coffee.  
  
John grinned as he blew on the foam on his cup. “ _You’re_ sweet. Thanks for the coffee.” He retorted, knowing Alex would very likely have shoved him for his pun if he wasn’t preoccupied with his cookie right now.  
  
Since John’s phone kept buzzing, he unlocked it at some point and read what his friends had to say.  
  
**Herakles  
** Now we gotta start a whole new chat because of these two fuckbirds  
**La Baguette  
** I think it’s lovebirds, actually  
**Herakles  
** In this case where’s the difference ;)  
**La Baguette  
** ooOOOOOOHHHH  
**Herakles  
** Johnathan Laurens and Alexhamder Hamilton.  
Lovebirds? Fuckbirds?  
Scientists can’t tell  
**La Baguette  
** b u r n y o u f u c k b i r d s   
  
[La Baguette added Jlau, Herakles and A-Dot-Ham to the group chat b u r n y o u f u c k b i r d s]  
  
**La Baguette  
** Ainnit good  
**Herakles  
** It good  
**JLau  
** Did y’all know   
Alex is shit at making coffee  
Alex I said a little bit of cinnamon not two pints of cinnamon  
Hamilton you suck   
**Herakles  
** Is that a metaphor ;)  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I hate everything  
I hate congress  
I hate my friends  
I hate the world  
I hate myself  
Especially you Johnathan Laurens  
I hate everyone except Meade  
**JLau  
** Did he just fucking sevenfold-text  
It’s like he’s having a conversation with himself   
**Herakles  
** Who the fuck it Meade  
Do you have a special someone on the side that you’re not telling us about  
**La Baguette  
** What about John???  
**Herakles  
** ¿??¿¿¿  
**JLau  
** ffs Herc  
You. Don’t. Speak. Spanish.  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** AnD I hATE EVerythING  
**La Baguette  
** Hey Hamilton  
Who’s a Dramatic Piece Of Garbage now huh  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
Your coffee machine is  
And Johnathan is  
**JLau  
** My name is not Johnathan.  
**Herakles  
** NOBODY CARES, JOHNATHAN  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** My coffee is a work. Of. Art.  
It’s not my fault Johnathan  
The top of your cinnamon-glass-thingy just came off and fell into your coffee Johnathan  
**JLau  
** MY NAME IS NOT JOHNATHAN.  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** My dearest, Johnathan  
**JLau  
** My dearest, Alexandra  
B U R N  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Damn boi  
Okay  
You win  
**La Baguette  
** They’re adorable Herc  
**Herakles  
** Why are we even texting you’re sitting right next to me  
**JLau  
** Antisocial™  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Like you’re the one to talk tho lmao  
**JLau**  
(ง •̀_•́) ง   
I am sensitive   
So shut the fuck up  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Make me ( ͡°  ͜ʖ  ͡°)   
**JLau  
** …   
alright maybe later **  
Herakles  
** Mother of god  
Praise the lord AMeN  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Wtf Herc  
**JLau  
** Yeah Wtf Herc  
**La Baguette  
** Okay but Herc I just can’t  
They’re too cute together okay  
_Mon dieu_ they would make a kickass twitter arguing team  
**Herakles  
** They’re too cute I know Laf   
Let’s not scare them off again tho  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Jfc  
**JLau  
** JFC  
  
Alex and John sighed simultaneously, which sent them both into a heavy laughing fit. After that, they had their (shitty) coffee in silence, texting and stealing small glances at each other and John couldn’t stop thinking about something Alex had said earlier.  
  
_You’re a shitty boyfriend.  
Oh, so we’re boyfriends now?  
I’m merely offering you an opportunity here!  
  
_ As he sipped Alex’ horrible coffee, he thought about what it would be like to actually date Alex. What it would feel like to get to do this every Sunday, to take him dancing and out for dinner and buy him flowers and plan weekend trips with him and kiss him goodnight every evening.  
  
What it might be like to live with him some day. Have breakfast together and share a bathroom and steal his clothes. What it would feel like to ask him to take care when they parted ways at some corner, Alex going to work, him going to university, and the longer John thought about it, the more he wanted it.  
  
He only realized he had been staring at Alex the whole time when the other boy threw him a playfully distrustful look.  
  
“What’cha looking at? What is it?” he asked, crawling closer to grin at him.  
  
John felt himself blushing.  
  
“’S nothing.” He murmured. Alex blinked, then rolled his eyes, sighing.  
  
“Okay. Let me tell you something, Johnathan.” He straightened his back and glared at John when he opened his mouth to tell him that his name wasn’t Johnathan, immediately shutting him up, then he continued.  
  
“We have spent approximately two months of pining and suffering and hell together because we didn’t _talk about stuff_. Because we didn’t talk about our feelings. And, sorry, but I’m not fucking willing to continue doing that. So you _gotta_ talk to me if you have to tell me something, okay? Can we just promise each other that we won’t have any silly disagreements because of one of us not talking about their problems? If you feel like saying something, say it. As long as it’s not mean. Well, actually, say it if it’s mean, too. I can take it. Just. Talk to me, okay?”   
  
He looked at John sincerely, smiling faintly when John swallowed and nodded.  
  
“So, let’s try this again. What is it?”  
  
“I’d _really_ rather not talk about it, okay? Don’t worry.” He smiled sheepishly, hoping Alex wouldn’t force him to talk about it.  
  
Luckily, he didn’t.   
  
He just shrugged and retreated, muttering “Alright, whatever.”  
  
**_  
_**_2:49 pm  
**  
**_ The afternoon was spent cuddling and talking in bed, one of them getting up to get supplies from the kitchen every now and then. Alex wrote and John drew, and Alex was pretty sure he was drawing him.  
  
Ever since he’d seen some of John’s drawings on Wednesday morning, he had been asking himself if John had ever drawn him. As he sat, typing away on his laptop, the question lay heavily in his mouth.  
  
Jesus Christ.  
  
Why not just ask? They had kissed, they had made each other come multiple times and made countless love confessions.   
  
And yes, Alex was new to this whole situation, this entire concept of loving-and-being-loved, but for all Alex knew, so was John, so there was no harm at all in asking, he decided.  
  
“Did you ever draw me before?”  
  
John lifted his head, his hand with the piece of charcoal stalling. Alex didn’t look up from the screen. He had to stay still, he was modeling. _Stay still. Don’t look up.  
  
_ “What?”  
  
Alex drew in a heavy breath, the words on his notebook seemed to discard, forming new sentences like _He hasn’t_ or worse, _He doesn’t love you, Alex, nobody really does. Why would he love you, you’re pathetic. He’s just using you.  
  
_ Alex mentally punched himself in the head, closing his notebook and looking up at John because _fuck modeling. I love him. He loves me. End of story.  
  
Does he though.  
  
Shut up.  
  
_ He drew in a breath. “When I saw your drawings of the others on Wednesday, and you came in to change your shirt, from that point on all I could think about was-“  
  
“Me, naked.”  
  
“Um. No. Well. Partially. But that’s not what I meant. I meant if… if you’d ever drawn me that way. Your drawings… they’re just so loving, and I just wished you had.”  
  
John stared at his lap, his cheeks flushed deep red. Alex frowned, tilting his head. _He hasn’t, has he?  
  
_ After a moment, John put his charcoal aside and held the sketchpad out to Alex. “Page 23, following.” He just murmured, and Alex felt his heart skip a beat.  
  
_He has drawn me. He has. I think I’m gonna die.  
  
_ He grabbed the pad and looked up at John briefly one last time, an excited smile plastered to his face, and then he opened the sketch pad and flipped to page 23 with his heartbeat echoing in his throat.  
  
And there he was.  
  
Wearing his obnoxious, thin-rimmed glasses.  
  
Usually, he entertained the strong opinion that he looked weird in those. They made him look old, _Old-Man-Ham_ old, so he didn’t wear them very often.  
  
But John somehow made them work on him.  
  
Alex flipped the page, and there he was again, mouth stuffed with a bagel, grinning at his phone. Alex cringed slightly. Why would John draw that? _Jesus_.  
  
The scary thing was that John’s drawings looked exactly like him, but still not like a look in the mirror.  
  
When Alex looked into the mirror, he saw flaws; he saw a big nose and no real jawline, he saw peach fuzz the he couldn’t even grow and a terribly trimmed goatee and dark half-moons beneath his too big eyes. He saw chubby cheeks and constantly greasy hair, but when John drew him, his eyes glowed and his hair looked soft, his skin tanned and his features beautifully soft and boyish.   
  
It was amazing and terrifying how John saw the beauty in him; especially when Alex failed to see it himself.  
  
Alex flipped the page with a smile, and there he was again, with his hair down, looking up at the sky with headphones around his neck. It dated back two days after their first meeting, and Alex couldn’t hold back a gasp. Even before having exchanged proper words, John had drawn him like this, already infatuated.  
  
Alex felt himself blush just at the intensity of the thought.   
  
The drawing was captioned with ‘okay but this person can’t be real’, and, to cover his nervousness, he smirked and cocked an eyebrow at John.  
  
“Well, right back at you, querido. This is the _sweetest_ thing, John, honestly. These are amazing.” He said sincerely, and John blushed, making grabby hands towards his sketchpad. Alex closed it with a fond smile, noticing that the voice in the back of his head was gone, and handed it back to him. They continued their work, sitting closer to each other than before, knees touching.  
  
  
**_4:03 pm  
  
_** “ _Cold in my professions, warm in my friendship, I wish, my dear Jones, it might be in my power by action rather than words to convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that till you bade us adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain of mankind and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments and too keep my happiness independent of the caprice of others. You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent_.”  
  
Alex looked down at John who was lying in his lap after he’d finished.  
  
John stared back at him with wide eyes.  
  
“You seriously need to stop reading me this stuff. That old language they used is just too damn hot, okay?” he breathed. Alex snorted.  
  
“Nerd.”  
  
“Hey, which one of us is writing that, huh? You’re a nerd!” John crossed his arms in front of his chest, sulking.  
  
“But I’m not the one who has to suppress a boner listening to it.” Alex grinned smugly, and John was about to protest, but Alex just grinned wider.  
  
“I get it. It’s my voice, isn’t it? And all this _filthy_ pure love between the two of them read aloud in _my voice_ gets you all hot and bothered, huh? Please stop sexualizing me.”  
  
John sighed deeply, pinching the back of his nose. “I mean, why deny it? Like, for real. Language is so hot. _Eloquent_ _people_ are so hot. You could make me come just by replacing the name of Anthony Jones with John Laurens and reading me a few paragraphs of that in a room with dimmed lights.”  
  
“Have you heard the part where Barlough goes all ‘NO HOMO DAMAGE CONTROL!!!’ and asks Jones to find him a wife down south but ends up subtextually talking about the length of his own penis for three paragraphs?”  
  
John snorted and hid his face in Alex’ thigh. “No, I haven’t!”  
  
“Or the part where he subtextually invites Jones to a threesome with poor Philippa on their wedding night?”  
  
This sent John into a heavy laughing fit. “Who comes up with stuff like that?!” he wheezed, rolling off of Alex to mimic crying into his pillow.  
  
“ _I_ do!” Alex acted flustered, shoving John’s side, eliciting a childish giggle from his lips. He pushed his notebook off of his lap and crawled after him. He flipped John over on the mattress and pressed him into it, straddling him and pinning him in place with his legs on either side of his hips.  
  
“Don’t roast my threesomes, okay? We both know that if I got married and invited you to have sex with me and my significant other, you would _so_ be down for it.” He ran his hand up John’s chest and grinned wolfishly. John shivered visibly at his touch and words, eyelids fluttering, then shook his head as if to clear it from thoughts. More curls fell out of his bun. Alex lifted his eyebrows and let his hand linger on John’s neck, where he felt his pulse, fluttering, racing beneath his skin.  
  
_Jesus, he’s so easy. This is so easy, I love it.  
  
_ “You wouldn’t?” Alex asked. His eyes wandered John’s body beneath him, the vivid blush rising at his neck, the motion of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his wet lips, parted in soft pants.  
  
“I wouldn’t, because you’ll never get married.”  
  
“What makes you so sure?”  
  
“Well, I know I won’t get married. Don’t want to. And who would you marry, if not me? Nobody else could stand you for that long.” John smirked up at him, knowing he’d won. Alex lifted his hand to his chest.  
  
“Why, you insult me, Laurens.”  
  
“You are, honest to God, the _worst_.” John huffed, sounding almost fond. Alex brushed his heated cheek with his knuckles, eliciting a small gasp from John’s lips.  
  
“It sounds like a compliment when you say it like that. Also, if that was supposed to be a marriage proposal, then I think we’re moving a bit too fast-“  
  
That’s when John rolled his eyes, flipped them over so that he had Alex beneath him again, closed his hands around Alex’ face and leaned in.  
  
Their attempt was sort of messy, teeth clashing since they were both still grinning, but Alex let out a shallow breath and angled his jaw upward, opening his mouth to allow John to lick into it. John took it all in his stride and thought, again, of the offer Alex had made him in the morning.  
  
He suddenly pushed Alex away, who gasped at the loss of contact, and looked up at him with widened eyes, trying to catch his breath. John sat back between Alex’ legs and pushed his messy hair away from his forehead, looking at the mattress.  
  
“John… What’s wrong?” Alex propped himself up on his elbows, panting as he watched John with a frown.  
  
John blushed. “I was just… earlier, when you asked me what I was thinking of and I said that I wasn’t thinking of anything… umm… do you remember that- that offer you made me this morning?”  
  
Alex lifted a cocky eyebrow, smirking breathlessly. “I made _plenty_ of offers this morning. For example-“  
  
John cut him off with a hurried, strangled yelp. “Yes, yes, I remember a lot, just… the one you made… before we…” He grinned sheepishly while a realization seemed to kick in with the other boy. Alex gaped at him.  
  
“You mean… the one about… being…” he gestured vaguely at himself, then John, and lifted his eyebrows even further.  
  
“Yeah. That one.” John murmured, blushing harder.  
  
Alex just stared at him for another moment, then gripped John’s hand hard, pulling him down into his arms again.  
  
“You can’t be serious.” he said, incredulous and awestruck and John giggled, brushing hair away from Alex’ face. “Believe it or not, I am! I _love you_ , Alex. And if you think that we’re moving too fast, that’s alright, we don’t have to do this. I just really, _really_ like you, and I think it’s wort a shot. But like I said, we don’t have to, only if you want to-“  
  
Alex shut him up by grabbing the collar of his t-shirt and smiling up at him widely, a smile that literally made John gasp aloud.  
  
He laughed and pulled John all the way back in. “I _do,_ John. I do, I do, I do!” he shouted, punctuating every word with a peck to the freckles on the skin of John’s neck, and John joined his laughter, dragging him away from his neck and getting into a more comfortable position with his legs on either side of Alex’ hips before surging forward again, his hands cupping Alex’ face and catching his lips in a heated kiss. Alex pulled the hair tie out of his hair and ran his hand through it, then pushed himself and John into a sitting position and slid his hands beneath his t-shirt and up his back.   
  
John’s chest was filled with endless warmth and a sudden, devouring need to be closer as he moaned into the kiss, slinging his arm around the other boy’s neck to pull him flush against his body.  
  
They kissed for hours, weeks, months, years, until it wasn’t enough anymore and t-shirts were pulled off and Alex, his _best friend_ and his _boyfriend_ , was beneath him again, kissing him again and again, telling him how much he loved him as John’s hands roamed Alex’ body for the second time on this warm, bright Sunday in this apartment of theirs, in this city of theirs.   
  
And when Alex tipped his head back, arched off the mattress and offered himself to John, John rushed towards him, catching him, _holding_ him, and he thought he might just cry, because.  
  
_This is just the beginning of it all. We have so much time. We have all our lives.  
  
I love him. And he loves me.  
  
This is just the beginning._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa.  
> I know.
> 
> This is my first published smut btw. Please be gentle and forgive me.  
> Also I had wayy too much fun writing that chat??? Like it was so funny to write. Maybe I will do a Jeffmads spinoff one day that is based on texts who knows??? ;)
> 
> Alle Dackel sind lang. Alle Dackel sind Hunde. Alle Hunde sind lang.  
> ~ All sausage dogs are long. All sausage dogs are dogs. All dogs are long. (Which doesn't make any sense and is both logically and in fact wrong lol my ethics teacher would kill me but he doesn't need to know.)
> 
> Ps I wrote this instead of doing homework and studying. Hmm if I think about it I haven't done any homework this entire semester so far. I'm a mess lol bye!  
> (C u in two weeks or something. Or earlier. Or later. Idek. Just. Be patient my friens. Hugs!!) ^^


	10. Be true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex has hickeys and everyone has questions about them even though he just wants to have a peaceful first work day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAHHHHHH THIS IS LATE I KNOW I HOPE YOU HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN I EXIST I CAN EXPLAIN
> 
> So I just aced the laST LATIN EXAM OF MY ENTIRE LIFE WHOOP WHOOP and studying for that I had like literally no time whatsoever for writing this mess.  
> Okay but now it's here and it's long and goofy and unbeta'd and messy and with a lil bit of early angst about was-a-relationship-a-good-idea-yes-it-was-please-don't-go-back-to-being-the-lonely-potatoes-you-used-to-be and the inevitable explicit sex scene. (Okay but seriously take all the smut you can get. Soon things will get sad, then sadder, and there won't be any sex for a long, long time.)
> 
> Also I would like to say a huge T H A N K Y O U for 200 kudos, almost 2,5 thousand hits and almost 200 comments like????? Wtf ??????? ?? ?????? I honestly didn't expect to get so much positive feedback and y'all are just so amazingly kind and positive and responsive, I just. I love you. Thank you. ^^  
> That's enough rambling though. Enjoy.

10  B e  t r u e  
  
RACHEL HAMLITON WAS NEITHER STUFPID NOR NAÏVE.  
**  
** She had lived a lifetime of outsmarting people, seeking confrontation, fighting for what she wanted, winning arguments with teachers and professors, always asking just the right questions that triggered huge discussions and never resting until she kept the promises she made to herself.  
  
Rachel was born the second youngest daughter of a semi-wealthy Scottish university professor, John Faucette, and his Puerto Rican second wife Mary into a family of academics in Glasgow, was raised with books and too many older sibling to be noticed.   
  
After her parents got divorced when she was eleven, she moved to St. Croix with her mother. She was an outsider on the small island, an immigrant, and she soon noticed that the one way to be successful in being left alone by the other kids and simultaneously getting whatever she wanted was intellect and inapproachability.   
To wear lots of dark make-up and pick and win fights with conservative teachers and classmates. Being the bored, rebellious smart kid, always knowing everything before the others knew it. Rachel soon, incurring her mother's displeasure, overcame the tiny town’s terrible anonymity and became somewhat of a local celebrity, "that smart kid" that kept ranting about the issue of racist sexism.  
  
Rachel's mother died young, when she was only nineteen. But her mind was older, and she kept going, graduated at top of every class and got every scholarship. She went to college in Puerto Rico, where she studied twice as hard as any other student in her classes. She spent the time others spent partying in the library, skimming for every book she could get her hands on, planning for the future and saving every dollar, and blew every professor away with her eloquence, intellect and wit.  
  
Then, at the age of 21, she met him.   
  
And for the first time in her life, she was the one who was blown away.  
  
He sat in front of her in History Science, he was intelligent and fierce, sparks flew when he spoke, mountains were brought to their knees when he argued and stared professors down, and from the moment she first saw him, she was helpless.  
  
His name was James.   
  
He was a short-tempered Puerto Rican-Dominican, long hair, mature and unbelievably smart with big brown eyes behind oversized, thin rimmed glasses. Their professor Mr. Conway had, upon a provoking question James had asked, stated that white privilege didn't exist, and he'd immediately started arguing with him. Mr. Conway kept saying that it wasn't even his statement, and that James should take a walk to calm down, until she jumped in.   
  
"Well, if you're _so_ sure it isn't your statement, Professor Conway, then whatever is your own opinion on the matter? Do you even have one? In a class like the one you teach, you definitely should have an opinion on racism, don't you think? So spit a verse. If you stand for nothing, _sir_ , what'll you fall for?" she said coolly. Conway was speechless, and James turned back at her, smiling, asking “Oh, who are you?” And that was it. Rachel was head over heels for this mystery boy.   
  
They went out for coffee only once, twice, and then got together. It was an easy thing between them; they fit seamlessly, and Rachel knew he was the one.   
  
Rachel's mother had always told her to marry the kind of man she wanted to raise her son to be like. So she did.   
  
They had a hurried, rainy autumn wedding a year after their college graduation and moved into a tiny apartment in St. Croix because Rachel didn’t know where else to go, really, and James just wanted to be with her, and their story unfolded. She opened a bookstore, and he opened a beach cafe, and Jemmy was born - he found it ridiculous to name their kid after him, she thought it was a good name - and Alexander was born, and they sold their shops and moved back to Puerto Rico because St. Croix was getting to expensive and small for the boys.  
  
They came of age; went to school, started writing essays - Jemmy on why his teachers were mean and Alex on why Luna and Ginny from Harry Potter should have become a couple (she couldn't keep him from reading every book in her shelf) - that were way too long for their age and were always miles ahead of their class. Jemmy had friends, got invited to parties and came home with words she had to forbid him to use and Alex had books, got into fights and came home with nosebleeds and a cocky grin, assuring her that it was all okay and that he had burned those idiot bullies and that he was like so much smarter than them. And James told her not to worry, that their boy would fight back eventually.   
  
Rachel didn't believe him.   
  
She knew Alex, he wasn't stupid enough to try and fight people with his fists. He used his piercing, way-too-complicated-to-be-a-nine-year-old words, and they were worse than any punch could ever be. In fact, he never did fight back. Rachel told herself not to worry, and everything was going well, they had enough money and Jemmy was smart and Alex was smarter and dinner was always a horrific mess of complicated conversations.  
  
And then, one spring, James suddenly left.   
  
Her truest love, her only love was gone without a goodbye or an explanation. She just woke up one morning and he wasn't there anymore.  
  
It was like a heavy punch into the gut. The realization that he was gone and not coming back struck her, left her breathless and crying for a couple of days, but at some point, she got up and told herself that crying about him wouldn't make him come back, and so she decided that the three of them, Jemmy, Alex and her had to get out of the apartment they'd had with him.  
  
She didn't bother explaining it to her boys; Alex was ten, Jemmy was twelve, and they would immediately have known if she lied anyway.  
  
So they moved out of the apartment that smelled like James' cigarettes and, after she scraped all her savings together and sold her car, they managed to afford a small suburban house.  
  
And the world went on.  
  
Rachel kept going. She took one day at a time, it all seemed to clear a bit and she spent all her money on books for her younger son which he devoured 24 hours a day, and then the cancer came.  
  
And it was as if everything came to a screeching halt, stopped spinning and stayed in that heavy aired midsummer day, a freeze frame of the dramatic and mercilessly ignorant collision of the world before and after Dr. Heering said a sentence about mutant white blood molecules and cancer cells in her bones.  
  
_Rachel. I'm so sorry to tell you this, but you have a very rare and aggressive form of Leukemia_.  
  
That was what he had said, and she could recall him straightening his frameless glasses on his long nose. She had blinked, she had huffed a laugh, her chest had felt incredibly tight.  
  
She asked him what the hell he was talking about and that she should be home soon, and he said that that wasn’t a good idea, that she should stay in the hospital overnight so they could do some more tests.   
  
Her first thought was that she had to go home; she was reminded of a handshake, remembered that she’d promised her Alex some pancakes for dinner, and that she probably wasn’t going to make it, but then Heering was already picking up the phone and dialing what she recognized as her own landline number. She closed her eyes, tears forming in them when she heard Jemmy’s voice through the receiver.  
  
She hadn’t listened to their talk, only cried into her hands.  
  
_My boys. My little boys.  
  
My parents weren’t around. I swore that I’d be around for you. I have to be around for you.   
  
_ It wasn’t like she entirely disappeared from their lives because of her illness. Except when they lived in Scotland with her father, they visited almost every weekend or at least every holiday, and since her illness turned out to be like a kind of on-and-off relationship, she sometimes even lived with them.   
  
At some point though, after his graduation, Jemmy – who wanted to be called James now, wore his hair short, had started smoking and reminded her too much of his father to handle – started being too busy with work and friends and college and visited less and less, apologizing every time for how long it had been. Then, he stopped visiting entirely when he moved back to Glasgow and got married to a pretty, pale girl called Pauline.  
  
But never Alex.   
  
He was there, almost every day after his graduation and his move to Brooklyn. Rachel was impressed by his staying power, although it painfully reminded her of his father. She had never fallen in love again, being too busy with raising one wayward boy and one boy that was so much younger but already smarter than her all alone and then, obviously, with her illness.  
  
Rachel knew Alex hadn’t liked New York at first, she could see it in his eyes, but then, one Saturday, she had showed up smiling and wouldn’t shut up about this John Laurens, whom she met only half a week later, a kind, smart, soft-eyed, quick-witted and funny boy with a real lot of freckles and a wide smile.  
  
She knew Alex very well, and she wasn’t stupid; she had known immediately what was up when he’d sat her down at the kitchen table at the age of twelve, an age at which other kids sat in dark rooms playing Pokémon or Truth or Dare with their friends.  
  
He had stared at his feet, speechless for a moment – imagine, her Alex, speechless – and then taken a deep breath to tell her he was bisexual. At the age of _twelve_.  
  
And the thing was, she wasn’t surprised, not at all. It was like she’d somehow always known. She didn’t mind at all, she just blinked and smiled and nodded and congratulated him on figuring it out. When he frowned and asked her if she didn’t mind, she simply said that he was her son, and that she loved him regardless of what he decided to do with his genitals. ( _Eww, Mom, that’s gross!_ )  
  
When he wouldn’t shut up about John, it was just like that. She knew immediately what was up from the moment he first mentioned his name.  
  
And she also knew that what Alex was hiding beneath that wool scarf around his neck was not a cold but something entirely different.  
  
„So, just in case I’m not getting this right. You’re wearing a gigantic black scarf, in _May_ , on a day with a temperature of almost _80_ ° because you… _caught a cold_?”   
  
Rachel frowned at Alex across the table and took a careful bite of her croissant which, incidentally, tasted like cardboard box. Almost everything tasted like cardboard boxes to her, her medication made her lose what little appetite she had these days. If she were the one who got to choose, she wouldn’t eat at all. After all, there wasn’t much harm left to be done to her body; not eating would only speed up the inevitable a bit.  
  
But Alex kept telling her to eat, with worry in his eyes, so she did. She owed him that; she owed him to at least try to keep going. Because he always had.   
If she thought about it, the fact that he obviously still needed her in his life, the way he was here every day to cling on to her was the only proper reason she hadn’t stolen an overdose of painkillers from Washington’s medicine shelf yet. She was tired, so, _so_ tired, but Alex wasn’t, and that was enough to make her stay alive for now.  
  
It was half to 10am on a Monday morning, and Alex sighed, probably wondering just how many times she would ask him why he was wearing that suspicious scarf.  
  
“Yes, because I caught a cold from some idiot on the subway, _obviously_. What did you think?” Alex snarled and blushed a little, burying his face halfway in his coffee cup and halfway in his scarf. She cocked an eyebrow and took a slow sip of her tea before setting the cup down.  
  
“ _Sure_.” She then said, dragged the word pointedly as she nodded slowly, feeling how a grin split her face in two.  
  
Alex dropped his coffee spoon on the table and glared at her, strands of sweaty hair tumbling out of his bun and into his flushed face. “What do you want to hear? It’s not like I have something to hide!” he growled. She just laughed and reached across the table to tug at the ends of the scarf _. Yeah, okay, he definitely has something to hide.  
  
_ “Ah, Alex. I don’t want to hear anything. You just… keep your scarf on. I hope your _cold_ gets better soon. You must be sweating to death.” She grinned, feeling like she knew a big, incredible secret and took her face into her hands. “I was just hoping you had some news. I’m honestly just starved for any kind of information about outside life. Seriously, I’m going mad in here, can you please like… _kidnap_ me some time, or something?” She let out a weary sigh and ran her hand over her stubbly hair. Gosh, she hated that hair so much. After all this time she still hadn’t gotten used to it.   
  
She hadn’t gotten used to any of this; the hospital, the cafeteria, her room, all of it still felt like something temporary, like a hotel, an unhomely vacation house that she was staying at on a vacation she hadn’t asked for until she could go home again.   
  
_Home. Go home. Where even is my home?  
  
_ Alex blinked and smiled, snaking his hand beneath the scarf to scratch at his heated skin. “I can and I will kidnap you. One day. But, actually, there is some news.”  
  
“Really?” she sat up expectantly. He nodded and leaned across the table a bit, anticipating his reply as long as he could with the happiest smile.  
  
“I have a job!” he finally burst out, and her eyebrows shot up as she gasped.  
  
“For real? Like, for real-for real?”  
  
“For real!” he smiled impossibly wider, letting out a chuckled of disbelief of himself, and she laughed and squeezed his hand on the table, thinking _this is good. He’s settling. He’s finally arriving, this is great.  
  
_ “Well, congratulations! Where?” she asked, let go of his hands and pulled back to take a sip of her jasmine tea. He sat back in his chair, too, starting to fidget with the cap of his water bottle.  
  
“At the flower shop. John got it for me when the owner, Jefferson, who seems kind of extra and evil but okay, came back from France on Saturday. I still have to ask Burr to change the time of my visits a bit so I can work the morning shift with John from now on.” Alex’ eyes lit up like every time he mentioned the other boy; Rachel thought it was adorable.   
  
Alex was so, so helplessly in love with his friend that she kind of always cooed a bit when he was brought up. She was so unbelievably relieved that he had found something; he probably wouldn’t understand just how much she wanted him to be happy.  
  
And John, the Schuylers and his other friends were good for him, she could tell. It was written all over his face; this incredible adoration and the softness the thought or talk of his friends brought to his eyes always made her smile. He loved them all so much, it was breathtaking. _Especially John.  
  
_ “How is John, by the way? How are you two holding up?” Rachel watched Alex blush deeply with a smirk.  
  
He took a hurried sip of his coffee, glancing around himself before reaching up to finally pull his scarf off.  
  
Rachel gasped, her eyebrows shooting up in a surprisingly unsurprised expression when she saw the red and purple hickeys blossoming on the skin of his neck, throat and collarbone. “Oh _my gosh_. How scandalous, Alex. Are those… from…” she grinned curiously, shuffling closer.  
  
Alex blushed even deeper and writhed uncomfortably beneath her gaze. “… From John. Yeah. We’re kind of… together now.” He shrugged, looking almost sheepish, and she threw her head back in a triumphant laugh.  
  
“I fucking knew it! I _knew_ it! Oh, Alex!” she laughed, clutching her heart dramatically and smiling at him. “I’m so happy for you. And honestly, don’t wear the scarf, because A) you look like you’re about to melt, boy, and B) this is New York, no one cares if you…well. If you had _fun_ last night. If anything, consider it a trophy or something. You don’t have to hide like that, know no shame.”  
  
Alex rolled his eyes as she kept laughing.  
  
“Can we please just change the subject?” he snarled. Rachel cooed sadly.  
  
“Aww, but you’re my favorite subject. You two are so cute.” She smiled softly, and even though he rolled his eyes dramatically again, he was evidently smiling.  
  
“We are the goddamn _cutest_. But dinner with Laf and Herc yesterday was hell. You see, they think we’re cute, too. The difference is that you wouldn’t ask inappropriate questions about our sex life. Well, at least you haven’t done that yet. But you know what I mean. You also wouldn’t throw single Chinese takeout-noodles at us if we weren’t willing to tell you anything.” He shook his head and smiled into his coffee fondly. Rachel huffed a laugh.  
  
“Your friends are weird.” She murmured. He grinned.  
  
“They’re just a bit curious, as long as they’d leave us alone about it if it made us uncomfortable, it’s all okay. Also, when you say it like that, it sounds as if I wasn’t one of them. I’m just as weird.” He was quiet for a moment, took a bite of the biscuit that always came with the coffee and chewed thoroughly, then frowned at her.  
  
“You said… you said you knew. Was I _that_ obvious?” He blushed when she nodded, smirking.  
  
“You were head over heels for that one, am I right?” she asked, eyeing him. _I was him once. I was obvious, too. I was head over heels, too. I still was when he left.  
  
Gosh, Rachel, are you even listening to yourself? James left you, yes. And he was an ass, and that was nine years ago. Get over yourself. And the fact that he left you doesn’t mean John will leave Alex. He would never, ever do that. Get a damn grip.  
  
_ “How long have you known?” he asked, his eyes glued to the table and the crumbs of cookie he had pulverized between his fingers.   
  
Rachel frowned and tilted her head. She knew that he was still a little nervous when talking to her about his sexuality, which was only logical. Of course, she didn’t mind at all whom he loved, she just wanted him to be happy, and he knew that, but he’d come of age in a society that kept telling him it was shameful to love another man; part of him seemed to have believed it.   
  
She sighed and reached across the table to squeeze his hand again.   
  
“A month or so. Hey, Alex, are you okay? You… you do know that I don’t mind you being with a guy, right? I don’t care what you decide to do with your genitals, remember? Be with him, be with John. Be happy. You both deserve it.”  
  
She smiled at him softly, and he pulled his hand away, cringing slightly. “Ew. Seven years don’t change anything about how gross the word ‘genitals’ sounds, Mom, you know that, right?” he grinned while she rolled her eyes.  
  
“My gosh, Alex. What are you, twelve? “ She scoffed, and he started ranting about what an unpleasant word ‘genitals’ was, how bad it sounded if you thought about it. Rachel stopped listening at some point, but while she drifted off, she noticed that he hadn’t put his scarf back on. She couldn’t hold back a grin. _Look at him go. Look at him being the wonder he is, hickeys or not.  
  
_ There he sat, her son, talking about his new job and his boyfriend and all the things he was doing, all the things that were changing for him at the moment, and how everything just seemed to fall into place perfectly.  
  
She ran her hand over her short hair again and smiled to herself. _Look at my son.  
  
_**  
** “SO, JOHNATHAN MC.FRECKLES. I HEARD YOU AND HAMILTON FINALLY DID IT YESTERDAY?” **  
  
** John looked up from his book, finding himself face to face with Peggy’s perfect irl impression of the Lenny Face and felt how his cheeks immediately heated up.  
  
“Who told you about that name?” he croaked, and she tried hard to look as innocent as possible as she trailed her fingers playfully over the page he was reading.  
  
“Oh. The name? Hmm, let me give you a tip. He is bilingual, pure and in love with me.” She replied, and John threw his book shut, drawing in a sharp breath before yelling “Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, you’ve got some explaining to do!” across the entirety of the coffee shop. Laf behind the counter jumped, dropped a half-finished sandwich for a customer on the floor and looked up at John and his angry glare with a startled squeak. Customers around John stared at the table he shared with Herc and Peggy.  
  
Peggy slapped his arm with an eye-roll to regain his attention. “Don’t try to change the subject! Did you do it?” Her merciless smirk made him blush even harder as he hesitated for a second.  
  
“Umm… no.” he managed after a while, but it was so uncertain that is just sounded like a question. Herc, who had been silent the whole time, bent over his sketch of Peggy’s gala dress and his green tea, now took a sip of it and added another shade of yellow to the skirt, murmuring “Hmm, yes you did.” patiently without even looking up. John scoffed helplessly, opening his mouth to deny it but was cut off by Peggy letting out a triumphant laugh.  
  
“Oooh, you did. You totally did.” She leaned back in her seat, starting to fidget with Herc’s napkin.  
  
John felt heat creeping up his neck and he reopened his book on a random page, trying hard to focus on the words, hoping she’d leave him alone if she thought he was reading.  
  
_with someone you really feel at home with. I knew how wildly he tosses in his sleep, how much milk and sugar he takes in his coffee. I knew his face in front of the mirror, insanely serious, as he tries to tame his mop of unruly hair with the hair dryer*  
  
_ “Now, would you look at that? He’s ignoring me now. Oh, he _definitely_ got some. Look at him _go_.”  
  
“We didn’t have sex, Schuyler. Fuck off, go back to school and learn how to mind your own business.” John mumbled in return. Peggy scoffed at him and started moaning about the fact that he’d just _no-graduation-because-school-is-shit-_ shamed her.   
  
John tried to pay her no mind as his eyes skimmed over the page, not really picking up on any of the content he was reading.  
  
_Sotaro said in a loud voice. In the old days I loved him for his lively frankness, but right now, it struck me as obnoxious, and I was only mortified*  
  
_ He watched words dissolve into single letters in front of his eyes and form new words in front of them, one word in particular. Peggy was still ranting.  
  
_Alex_.  
  
_Alex. Alex. Alex.  
  
_ He pinched the back of his nose with a frown.   
  
_Alex.  
  
Get a grip, John, not a boner.  
  
_ All of that talk about him and Alex having sex had made all the well-repressed thoughts of their Sunday return. Thoughts of _morning kisses and sloppysweatymessy kitchen handjobs, his perfect lips wrapped around me, the tip of my cock brushing the back of his throat, how loud he was during it, how he couldn’t even open his eyes to the morning light as I fucked him, how good my name sounds when he moans it, how warm and wet and tight he is-  
  
_ John cleared his throat and scratched at the slightly heated skin of his neck. He felt incredibly uncomfortable in his skinny jeans as he tried hard to focus on the book again and not think about how horrifically right Peggy was.  
  
_A grip, not a boner, what did I say, John? Sweet Jesus, when will Alex finally be here?  
  
_ As if the universe had read his mind, he heard the door of the coffee shop open and Peggy letting out a wolf-whistle.   
  
John looked up and was rushed by a sudden wave of happiness, sexual frustration and deep horror at the exact same time when he saw Alex striding towards their table with his head ducked and his hair in a messy ponytail, his neck and the dark, dark hickeys on his skin exposed.  
  
They had talked about said hickeys while brushing their teeth in the bathroom this morning; Alex had wanted to cover them up with make-up or a scarf or something and John had suggested he should just give him some of his own, that way he wouldn’t be the only one who looked like a sex-crazed mess.  
  
After a long, giggly discussion, Alex had settles for wearing a scarf and taking John’s t-shirt off again to push him against the bathroom wall and nip at his collar bone just a little, or maybe a little more when John couldn’t suppress a low, needy moan, because how could he say no to such an offer? In the end, he’d only managed to leave a tiny red mark because Herc was yelling for them to come have breakfast, but John was satisfied.  
  
And now here Alex was, and he wasn’t even wearing the scarf anymore. He smiled crookedly when Peggy clapped her hands and told John he could stop denying it now.  
  
“I mean, it’s not like we’re judging you. It was about time you got it on, y’all just made us endure, like, the _slowest_ of burns. So, congratulations, I guess?” Peggy shrugged and grinned and stood from the table to get Alex’ usual cup of black coffee and also discretely clear the seat next to John. Alex took the bait and sat down on it, smiling a small smile at John as he dropped his shoulder bag to the floor.  
  
“Hey, dipshit.” He murmured and let his hand brush over the inside of John’s wrist gingerly – goose bumps rose to the skin immediately and John gritted his teeth. _Grip, not boner.  
  
_ “Hey, Baby Girl. He replied, not looking up from his book but smirking when he saw Alex startle and blink from the corner of his eye. Apparently, the nickname reminded him of yesterday, too, giving John just the reaction he’d hoped for.  
  
Herc glanced up from his sketch pad pointedly. A small grin was playing around his lips as he took another sip of his tea and then threw his sketch pad shut, taking his chin in his hands and smiling at the two of them widely  
  
“So, Lams is a thing now. Really. Who would have thought.” He said dryly, enjoying the way they both blushed.  
  
“What the fuck is a Lams?” John muttered, while Lafayette dropped himself on the chair next to Herc, putting his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder.  
  
“It’s the two of you, jackass. Your shipping name. And this ship, it is _sailing_ …” he sing-song-ed, watching the two blush deeper. John stared at his book willfully, and Alex frowned. “How the hell did you get the word ‘Lams’ out of the names Hamilton and Laurens? Also, Herc, who taught this French fuck the word ‘jackass’?” he asked. John snorted quietly.  
  
Herc pointed his finger at Peggy behind the counter accusingly. “It was her. I don’t _ever_ swear, you know that, Hamilton.”  
  
“Okay, let me just tell you that I just chose to ignore what you just called me, mon cœur ami. Bot anyway, congratulations on… that.” He gestured vaguely at how close they were sitting to each other, thighs brushing. Herc muttered something like “ _Well, it was about damn time…”_ before looking straight at Alex.  
  
“Hey, so, Hamilton. You didn’t really bother asking for our blessing, did you? Just slept with my beloved son _Johnathan_ Laurens without asking, huh?” he narrowed his eyes playfully. John dropped his head on the table and buried his face in his book, groaning. “Please tell me that one won’t stick. _Please_.” He said, muffled. Alex paid him no mind. He was already clutching his heart dramatically.  
  
“Oh, my dearest Sir Hercules Mulligan! I have come here to this late hour to ask thee for thy blessing so I may claim thy wondrous, gay as in happy, beautiful son Johnathan, whom I very much adore, as mine. Let me swear a solemn vow now, that I shall not ever leave his side nor shall I have intercourse with him on thy sofa bed, or so help me God, I shall hatter and weep in the pits of hell in deadly pain and endless misery for the rest of my pathetic existence.” Alex declared, throwing John a look that said ‘ _Look at me using old language to get to you’_. John shoved his shoulder, smiling fondly at his boyfriend as he whispered “ _You’re an idiot_.” while Lafayette cried into Herc’s shoulder with laughter.  
  
Herc looked at Alex sternly for a second, seemingly considering, then detached the crying Frenchman from his arm to reach across the table to extend his hand which Alex shook hesitatingly.  
  
“I offer thee my blessing. Be true.” Herc said solemnly, and Alex turned towards John, eyeing him with a look that sent chills down John’s spine. He lifted his hand to tuck stray curls back behind his ear where they belonged and smiled.  
  
“That boy is mine.” He whispered with a wide smile and leaned in, taking John a little by surprise as their lips met gently.  
  
John was still a little caught off guard whenever Alex kissed him, like it was something that he just didn’t expect to happen. He was so used to not getting to touch Alex and to at least try to maintain a reasonable distance that every time he realized he didn’t have to hold back, he got a rush of adrenaline.  
  
He drew in a short breath when Alex nipped at his lower lip softly and turned towards him, pulling him closer by his neck and sliding his knees between John’s to get closer, to get more of John. John involuntarily spread his legs a little and let his eyes slip shut.   
  
He barely noticed Herc’s quiet cooing or the way Laf blinked and stood, walking off to the counter with a fond, polite, sort of motherly smile and the way Herc looked back down at his sketch discretely, but chose to ignore it all along with Alex’ clear intention of keeping this kiss sweet. He slid his one hand into Alex’ hair and moved his other to his back, clutching at his waist and pulling him closer as he licked his way into Alex’ mouth shamelessly.  
  
Alex bit his tongue to suppress a low groan, and John knew this was not a very good idea, kissing in public was never a good idea, and scaring the customers of Laf’s coffee shop away was even worse, but the thoughts he had earlier had lit a fire in the low members of his stomach and left him longing, and so Alex was the first to break away when Herc cleared his throat pointedly, leaving John with a soft, slightly needy whine on his lips. Alex placed one hand on his thigh to nudge him away when he attempted to pull Alex back into his arms with another whiny noise, desperate for some kind, any kind of contact. _Please. Please, I just want you to touch me, please.  
  
_ Herc watched them pant, his expression smug and patient.  
  
“Maybe we should all take that coffee to go and go back to the flower shop so that you two can make out in peace without people staring. We can’t open up until Lizzy shows up anyway, and I think I have earplugs somewhere in my locker…” Herc grinned teasingly, letting out a yelp when Alex threw an empty sugar parcel his way while John just blushed.  
  
Alex looked back at John while Herc emptied his own, unused sugar parcel into his saucer to have something to throw at Alex in return. He leaned into him slightly and pressed a short kiss to his clothed shoulder. John let out an appreciative hum and leaned into the touch, raking his gaze over Alex’ body, yesterday’s hickeys at his neck, his hair slightly mussed up, stray strands falling from his ponytail into his face, his white t-shirt – one of John’s – a tight fit around the chest and his slightly swollen lips parted in a lightheaded grin, and let out a frustrated sigh.  
  
“Nah, Mulligan. We’re staying. I can resist if you can, Hamilham. Rhyme unintended.” He winked at Alex with a grin, and then bent back over his book, reaching for Alex’ hand beneath the table to remove it from its distracting place high up on his thigh and then intertwine their fingers. Alex grimaced, apparently a little frustrated too - John couldn’t hold back a self-satisfied grin at that - and then turned away to reach for Herc’s closed sketch pad with his free hand.  
  
“Are those your designs? Mind if I have a look?” he asked, and Herc took a sip of his tea, crossing his arms in front of his wide chest. “Not at all, go ahead.” He shrugged, and Alex dove headfirst into the pad happily.  
  
John watched him flip his way through Herc’s designs from the corner of his eye, silently sincerely apologizing to the author of his actually amazing book _\- I’m sorry, Banana, I’m just madly in love, this doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your work –_ while he eyed Alex’ reactions, feeling a slight pang of jealousy – _talking about_ _that boy is mine – wh_ enever Alex told Herc about something he liked with an awestruck little smile.  
  
Of course, designing was an entirely different thing from what John did himself, portraits and still lives and views and sketches. But it kind of simultaneously was the same thing in a way, and the way Alex talked to Herc about his drawings, or just the way Herc was confident about what he did in general, the way he could put himself out there and celebrate what he loved and was good at with people that liked it, too, was just unfair.   
  
John had always been very preserved when it came to talking about his drawings. He knew he wasn’t terrible at it, but that didn’t change a thing about how anxious he was about it, about practically everything he did.  
  
_How does one muster so much confidence and belief in themselves, Hercules Mulligan? How do you just know how good you are at what you’re doing, how do you not hate yourself for every single line you draw?  
  
_ Alex laughed next to him. John tried not to listen too closely, clutching the book tightly with his eyebrows drawn together.  
  
_I don’t care. The negative differences between the work of others and my own work do not define how good my work is. They absolutely don’t. Which is why I don’t care at all.  
  
_ John took a big gulp of his coffee and blinked back down at his book. His mind was soon slipping again.   
  
They still hadn’t sent him any info as to whether or not he had been accepted to NYAA. It wasn’t as if John got anxious about it every day, not at all. It wasn’t as if they’d already taken about and entire month to think about it, either.   
  
John had by now lost what little hope he had about being accepted in the first place, but somehow, he still couldn’t stop thinking about it. His thoughts of _you weren’t good enough, you had one chance to be good enough and you didn’t make it_ were still there, all the time, gnawing at his insides, heavy on his chest.  
  
_The book, John. Read the book._ He rubbed his forehead with the back of his free hand and flipped the page.  
  
_He was very tall, and I was always looking up at him. Glancing at his profile, I thought, if I were with him, he would… he would grab me by the hair, force me to decide on an apartment, and pull me kicking and screaming back to school.*  
  
‘_ John felt how Alex squeezed his hand beneath the table, his eyes on him. John didn’t look up.  
  
_I loved his hearty robustness, I thirsted after it, but in spite of that I couldn’t keep pace with it, and it made me hate myself. In the old days.*  
  
_ Now Alex had wrenched free of his grasp and was nudging his shoulder. “John, are you alright?” he asked quietly. John lifted his head, smiling a slightly pained smile. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, but Alex didn’t have the time to respond, because suddenly, someone set a blue paper cup of black coffee down in front of him.  
  
  
“THERE YOU GO, HAMILTON. This is to-go because, _Johnathan_ , Lizzy just texted me you weren’t replying to her messages, and that ‘my phone is out of battery like all the time’ is a shitty excuse, and that she is at the flower shop waiting for y’all, so. You should get going.” Peggy said, beaming down at them and then walked back to the counter from where she watched Herc, John – shouting obscenities after her for the nickname – and Alex hastily pack up and leave the store.   
  
“See you idiots later!” she sing-song-ed after them before she strolled to her place on the counter by the coffee machine, hopping on it and waiting for Maria to give her some orders to mix with a bored expression. The other girl was working the register today and Laf, she hadn’t seen him in a while; he was probably in the kitchen baking or something.  
  
Peggy watched the three florists running down the sidewalk outside the window, John dragging a laughing Alex along by his hand, and smiled to herself.  
  
_Honestly, finally.  
  
_ “Aren’t they just adorable?” Maria turned around to her and handed her a paper cup, a large Caramel Macchiato for a person called Olive, which Peggy started mixing immediately.  
  
‘“They are. Almost as cute as you and Lizzy.” Peggy replied. Maria scrunched up her snub nose.  
  
“Hmm, I wouldn’t go that far, Schuyler. Lizzy and I practically _invented_ cute. I would say they’re somewhere between TJeff and Jemmy and Herc, Laf and you.” She said before greeting another customer.  
  
“Now, hold up a minute, girl. We, the magic squad of the polyamorous power of taking a long time to come to terms with your own sexuality, are supposed to be less cute than fucking _Jeffmads_? What the fuck? They’re not even properly dating; James is just hopelessly in love with Thomas while Thomas simply never catches feelings and only flirts with Jemmy relentlessly because he just can’t _stand_ the thought of having to live without his admiration!”   
  
Peggy scoffed as she put a lid on the cup for the girl called Olive and pushed it across the counter, smiling at the girl before she turned back around to face Maria, who just shrugged and handed her a new cup. Double Espresso with cream for a Chris. _Espresso_ with _cream_? Peggy pulled a face and started mixing.  
  
“Come on, Peggy. I admit, their relationship is definitely fucked up, but the way Madison just stopped texting entirely when Jefferson came back? I mean, unrequited love or not, who knows, Jefferson doesn’t deserve Jemmy anyway, but that? That was just super cute.” Maria cocked an eyebrow at her coworker. Peggy considered for a moment, and then nodded reluctantly in agreement. She made the coffee machine whirr and laughed when she remembered something.  
  
“Oh my god, can you recall that time they shared a milkshake there, in the corner table right beneath that photo of Adrienne in Laf’s courtyard and just couldn’t take their eyes off each other? _That_ was adorable.” Peggy pointed at the small table beneath the big, framed photograph of the short-brown-haired, smiling Adrienne leaning out of the window and grinned to herself at the memory of Thomas and Madison, one and a half years ago, when Thomas hadn’t left for France and James hadn’t switched his thick-rimmed glasses for contact lenses yet. It was about their first time coming here, and after that, the two of them had become regulars  
  
“Oh, yeah. I remember. I remember being jealous.” Maria giggled and took the full cup Peggy was stretching out.  
  
“Talking about Adri, do you know when she’s coming to visit again? I miss her. She promised me to teach me some swearwords in French so I can yell at Laf without anybody else getting what I’m saying.” Peggy started mixing the next drink, another Caramel Macchiato for a Nina, _this isn’t fucking Starbucks,_ while Maria shrugged.  
  
“Ask Laf. She’s his sister, not mine. But I miss her, too. And honestly, you just _gotta_ tell me some French swearwords when you know some. Please. I’m in desperate need of the ability to roast my boss.” Maria looked at her with a wolfish grin as the swing-door to the kitchen opened and Laf stepped up behind Peggy, wrapping his arms around her waist and smiling into her ponytail. Peggy let out a surprised noise but soon relaxed into the touch, feeling his warmth and heartbeat against her back.  
  
“Oh, who wants to roast me? Qu’est qu’ c’est, what does that even mean, Maria? _Cannibalism_?” he asked cluelessly. Peggy giggled and Maria rolled her eyes.  
  
“No one wants to _roast_ you, Napoleon. You’re safe.” She grinned and Peggy lifted her eyebrows at Laf over her shoulder. “Hello, Will.” She muttered.  
  
“Hello, Dr. Lecter.” He replied and kissed her cheek before letting go of her and grabbing Nina’s Caramel Macchiato to put a lid on it.  
  
  
[Peggmaster added ALizard, Angel and Lady In Red to Gossip Girl(s)]  
**  
Angel  
** Peggy   
What have you done  
**Peggmaster  
** I have done a group chat   
**Lady In Red  
** For gossiping  
This is an amazing idea Peggs  
**Angel  
** Why do I always get stuck in stuff like this  
**Peggmaster  
** Genes, Sister  
Genes  
**Angel  
** You are the worst  
I am in fucking class   
And that TV show   
Gossip Girl  
Is ridiculous, offensive, shallow, whitewashed and dumbly capitalistic   
And outdated  
**Lady In Red  
** How dare you  
*clutches heart* CHUCK IS DISAPPOINTED  
*touching Chuck Bass' cheek softly* don't listen to her my baby  
**ALizard  
** Maria you're gay   
**Lady In Red  
** GAY FOR CHUCK BASS  
**Peggmaster  
** U got something wrong there  
**Lady In Red  
** WhAT DO YOU MEAN  
  
[Lady In Red changed the name of the group chat to Gay For Chuck Bass]  
  
**Peggmaster  
** Good name  
Sums it up pretty well  
**Angel  
** I didn't ask to be a part of this  
**Peggmaster  
** U don't ask you are chosen  
**Angel  
** Oh god  
Is this some kind of cult  
**Lady In Red  
** Lizzy I'm not actually in love with Chuck Bass just in case you were wondering  
Lizzy please don't disappear from this chat   
Don't leave me alone with your weird-ass siblings  
**ALizard  
** I didn't leave I just like to  
Observe™  
Besides the bois just showed up   
So I'm sorta busy trying to keep John from leaving with Alex to teach him how to arrange flowers  
Aand now they left  
This is going to be a disaster  
**Peggmaster  
** Teaching him how to……… _arrange flowers?_   
Suuurrre.   
( ͡°  ͜ʖ ͡°)   
**Angel  
** Oh god  
**Peggmaster  
** WHY DON'T YOU JUUST LEAVE THEN  
  
[Angel left the group chat]  
  
**Peggmaster  
** Wow  
She just did that  
**Lady In Red  
** You could practically hear the mic drop there  
How dramatic  
**Peggmaster  
** YOU'LL BE BACK  
**ALizard  
** Aaand John is back with flowers and Alex honestly just looks terrified   
Like Hamilton calm down they’re just flowers  
**Lady In Red  
** Remind me, why don’t we work at the same place, Lizzy  
**ALizard  
** Shut up  
They have tulips  
John always makes dick jokes about tulips oof this is going to be worse than I thought  
Well rip me I guess  
But like what are you up to  
  
  
“SO, WHAT DO I DO NOW?” Alex muttered, anxiously eyeing the pile of tulips, leaves and baby's breath that John had dropped on the counter with an _'oof'_.  
  
John leaned against the counter and grinned at him with a nonchalant shrug. "I thought you were the creative one of us. Prove it."  
  
They were back at the flower shop, Herc was by the door cleaning the floor with a broom where he'd accidentally dropped a potted plant on its way outside, and Eliza was in the Café texting and rolling her eyes every now and then.

After a little fighting and a lot of eye-rolls, Herc, Eliza and John had - without Eliza's consent, who thought that they weren't going to get anything done if they did that - decided that John should teach Alex how to arrange flowers.   
  
John had then grabbed Alex by his hand again and pulled him to the back to show him to the inner workings of the flower shop. Alex had seen the greenhouse in the backyard, the _'flower bunker'_ \- to quote John - a narrow room with a table for potting and arranging and sitting on in the middle of the room, a skylight above and metal shelves with pots and even more fresh flowers framing the walls and the locker room where _'everyone kept their shit and John took occasional naps that no one could know about'_ and the purple-walled bathroom.  
  
On their way back, John had picked up the flowers that Alex was now supposed to arrange, and to be honest, he was terrified. It wasn't like the task at hand was particularly complicated, but John was watching him, and Alex felt incredibly dumb as he cluelessly picked up a couple of tulips and then looked up at John helplessly.  
  
"A little help?" he asked desperately, throwing John an accusing look. The other boy let out a soft chuckle and then moved closer to stand beside him.  
  
"Okay, it's really not that hard, Hamilton. You just... you basically just pick flowers that look nice together and try to make them into a bouquet. Try not to place the flowers too evenly. Like. No symmetry, we die like art teachers. Alright?" He cocked his eyebrows at Alex, who slowly nodded and swallowed and then broke his gaze away and hesitatingly started arranging.  
  
As he worked, John moved behind him and put his chin on his shoulder, watching his hands dance, unevenly, tentatively, like he was scared to break the flowers, which, as a matter of fact, he was. They probably were the most fragile thing he had held in years, and Alex had a habit of breaking things. He drew in a breath.  
  
_Why the fuck am I having anxiety about a goddamn flower arrangement?  
  
_ John snaked his arms around him and ran his hands down his forearms, making him shiver a little as he stopped his roaming at Alex' own hands to gently guide his motions.   
  
John smiled against his ear, and Alex tried hard to focus on the flowers in his hands, which was hard with John's chest pressed snugly against his back. Alex drew in a short breath, painfully reminded of the pancakes they'd had on Sunday, and John giggled cheekily.  
  
"See? You're a natural, Alex. There's so many things you're good at." he breathed into his ear lowly, obviously just trying to tease him by now, and Alex blushed hard, feeling his entire face and neck growing hot because _there’s so many things you’re good at, Alex. You’re amazing. So good. So good for me._   
  
“Jesus Christ, John, you asked for it.” he muttered, and then swatted John’s hands away and turned his head slightly to kiss him.  
  
John was taken by surprise, again, but soon relaxed into it and slid his hands up Alex' sides and moaned very quietly when Alex slid his tongue past his lips. He dug his fingers into his shoulder blades slightly, and when he did, Alex broke away with a wide grin, just a little out of breath.  
  
"I know I’m good at stuff, dipshit. I'm the fucking _greatest_." he said, self-satisfied when he saw the way John's smug expression was entirely wiped off his face, replace by a look of _how could you do this to me_. Alex smirked. _And there goes the power, right back into my hands.  
  
_ John blinked slowly, like he was awaking from some trance, and involuntarily stared down at him. Alex felt himself blushing beneath his gaze and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear, looking away shyly and silently cursing himself for how easily he had turned into the flustered smol one again. _How does he do this? How do you do this, John Laurens?  
  
_ "What?" he bit, blushing harder, and John shook his head in slight disbelief before bending down to kiss his cheek softly and smiling as he wound his arms back around Alex' waist, nuzzling into his neck and nudging him back to work.  
  
"Nothing. Just... it's true. You _are_ the greatest." he said, and Alex found himself giggling stupidly, giddily as he turned back around, facing the flowers but still able to watch his boyfriend smile from the corner of his eye as he focused back on the task at hand.  
  
“Oh, by the way, Hamilton. Does the fact that you work here now and that you and Laurens are together mean that you’re moving into our place, because in that case, I would consider moving into a bigger apartment altogether, and that maybe Peggs can move in with us, too. Just in case.” Herc’s voice suddenly coming from the door made them both jump slightly and look up. Herc was leaning on his broom, smiling curiously, and Alex felt his throat growing tight. It was suddenly very quiet. Eliza glanced up from her phone.  
  
_It sound like settling down, but it don’t sound much like you, boy.  
  
Settling down.   
  
Settling down. You are Alexander Hamilton, do you really ever settle down?_ Alex glanced at John from the corner of his eye.  
  
This was his home. Brooklyn, the flower shop, _John_ was his home, but wasn’t deciding to move in with each other on the first day of their relationship moving a little too fast? Alex didn’t think he was ready for that step, that kind of commitment, and maybe he should have thought about that before he asked John to be his boyfriend, but that was a thing he couldn’t change anymore now.  
  
On the other hand, Alex practically lived at John’s place anyway, and moving in entirely would only mean saving some money.  
  
_Settling down is not very you, though, is it?  
  
_ Alex swallowed and remembered his invitation letter to Philadelphia University, and thought of Rachel, and _take all the opportunities I didn’t take.  
  
_ He looked at John hurriedly again and made an ‘umm…’ sound to fill the silence and the way Eliza and Herc synchronously lifted their eyebrows, and then John jumped in, saving his sweating and stammering boyfriend.  
  
“We’ll see about that. We can get your books though, Baby Girl, maybe you won’t be that annoying anymore if you have something to do.” He said, and Herc frowned for a moment, then shrugged, getting back to his work.  
  
John smiled a small smile at the indistinguishable sigh of relief Alex let out as he started arranging flowers again and pressed a chaste kiss to his neck. Alex knew it was a peace offering, a _we can wait, don’t worry,_ but John’s smile had been a little pained, and Alex felt a slight pang of guilt, wishing Herc had never asked that question.   
  
**  
Lady In Red  
** Hey Lizzy  
u know u can't just be like oh hey John and Alex are flirting and then not give us details   
wtf Lizzy  
**Peggmaster  
** Yeh wtf Lizzy  
**ALizard  
** Alright alright alright  
Okay they’re at the counter  
John is leaning over Alex' shoulder  
Arms around his waist  
I’m jealous  
**Lady In Red  
** Rude  
**ALizard  
** You’re rude  
**Peggmaster  
** Stop guys   
I want updates on Lams  
**ALizard  
** Okay  
They’re arranging tulips and baby’s breath together and it looks awful  
How can John like tulips so much they’re ugly  
**Lady In Red  
** Eliza  
We don’t care about the flowers we want the juicy bits  
**ALizard  
** Honestly you’re kind of grossing me out right now  
**Peggmaster  
** Juicy bits  
**ALizard  
** John is like guiding Alex’ motions why is this so weirdly sexual  
And he’s grinning like that insufferable face you send so often Peggs  
**Peggmaster  
** U mean this  
( ͡°  ͜ʖ ͡°)   
**ALizard  
** Yeah that one  
It’s the worst  
**Peggmaster  
** How d a r e  you  
**Lady In Red  
** Safe the domestic  
Updates pls  
**ALizard  
** Okay okay  
There’s whispering and stupid little giggles  
John just said that there’s so many things Alex is good at and now Alex is blushing like crazy like  
Is this an inside joke or a code or something  
What’d I miss guys???  
**Lady In Red  
** Give them some privacy  
**ALizard  
** Are you for real Maria  
You’re the one who wanted juicy bits  
**Peggmaster  
** GET A ROOM @ LAMS  
UPDATE PLS @ FLOWERZ  
**ALizard  
** Alex is still blushing  
John is still grinning  
Herc is rolling his eyes and cleaning  
This is a pretty good summary of what’s going on in my life rn  
**Peggmaster  
** This is depressing  
**ALizard  
** [ALizard sent a picture: AYY THEY JUST KISSED IT’S A D O R B S!!]  
[ALizard sent a picture: THESE TWO ARE SO IN LOVE AND I LOVE IT]  
[ALizard sent a picture: This is what it looks like]  
[ALizard sent a picture: Look at Herc cleaning]  
**Peggmaster  
** He is cuter than Alex and John tbh  
**Lady In Red  
** Aaw that’s a tough statement Peggs  
**Peggmaster  
** Don’t hurt me I’m in love  
**ALizard  
** [ALizard sent a picture: I feel like some paparazzi sending…]  
[ALizard sent a picture: Oh shit they noticed me]  
[ALizard sent a picture: JoHN I COMING TOWARDS ME]  
[ALizard sent a picture: JOHN IS TRYING TO TAKE MY PHONIuF?Ng...]  
**ALizard  
** Okay now  
Ladies  
What the fuck is this  
**Peggmaster  
** Wot  
**Lady In Red  
** John is that you  
Also did you just assume my gender ;)  
**ALizard  
** Stow the memes Maria  
Yes it is me you fuckheads  
Leave me and my boyfriend alone  
**Lady In Red  
** BOYFRIEND  
**ALizard  
** Yes boyfriend   
Are you unfamiliar with that concept   
**Peggmaster  
** Come one Johnathan we were just making fun of y'all  
**ALizard  
** joHNATHAN???  
?¿¿???¿?  
MARGARITA I DO NOT KNOW FORGIVENESS  
  
[ALizard left the group chat]  
  
**Lady In Red  
** Now that’s what I call dramatic  
**Peggmaster  
** Well  
Rip Gossip Girl I guess  
  
**  
** “OH, COME ON! Laf? Herc? You _gotta_ know it's not fair! Why am I the fucking chameleon?" Peggy whined when they were sat in front of the flat screen in their living room that evening, half-empty Chinese takeout cans in their laps or on the couch table and 'Tangled' on the TV.  
  
Herc patted her back supportively, shaking his head. The two of them were sat on the floor, sharing the big blanket from Laf's bed, while John had stretched his long legs out and was taking up the entirety of the couch, his back leaned against Alex' chest, who was quietly feeding him pieces of an egg roll while John was trying to sort each of the movie's characters to one of the five of them.  
  
"Soz, Peggs. I'm with John here. Your character kind of really matches the chameleon. But, saying that Laf is the upper half of the horse and I'm the legs is just discrimination, to be honest, John." Herc said, throwing John a glare, who then threw a pillow at Herc, screaming " _Life doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints, Mulligan!_ " at which Alex let out a snort of laughter.  
  
"Well, then you're Eugene. Because we, Peggy, Herc and I, all deeply despise the hell out of you." Lafayette said as snobbishly as he could while he stuffed his mouth with noodles and then threw John a cocky, full-mouthed grin.  
  
John rolled his eyes dramatically and took refuge in the crook of Alex' warm neck with a whine. "All my friends are heathens." He sighed, breathing in the Alex' scent with an unconscious smile.  
  
" _I_ don't deeply despise you." Alex resisted and started gently carding a hand through his curls while Peggy cooed; John wasn't sure if she meant Alex' statement or the fact that she deeply sympathized with the horse that was trying to bite Eugene on the TV, but joined anyway.  
  
"Well, if you don't despise him, and he's Eugene, then you're Rapunzel. She's the only one who doesn't hate that guy." Herc muttered, and Alex let out a noise of complaint.  
  
"What? _I'm_ Rapunzel? But, I'm the asshole in this relationship, John's the cute one! Plus, his hair is longer than mine. What the hell?" he whined. John grabbed his hand and kissed it with a smirk.  
  
"Hello pretty lady, what are you up to? Combing your hair, reading a book, or maybe three? Also, why are you named after a vegetable?" He cackled when Alex swatted his hand away with a scoff and crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
  
"I would be such a bad thief anyway, maybe I should be Rapunzel. I never stole a thing in my entire life." John suggested. Herc turned around and cocked an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Okay... Laurens... why do I not believe this?" he snarled, eyeing John, who let out a scoff after a moment and threw his hands up.  
  
"That was one- maybe five times, and nobody in my school's library even ever read that- those books!" he protested. Herc turned back around to the TV with a self-satisfied smirk, muttering "Oh, you just keep telling yourself that."  
  
"Okay, Mulligan. If I'm Eugene that means I steal shit, right? Could I get some of that wine of yours to flush down my noodles?" John grinned hopefully, but Herc just scoffed.  
  
"Forget it." He said dryly and took the bottle from Laf to take a swing.  
  
Alex leaned down to John's ear and there was an evident smirk in his voice when he breathed "Maybe that's for the better, Laurens. I'm not blowing a drunk man tonight." lowly, sending a chill down John's spine.  
  
He found himself being surprisingly quiet throughout the rest of the movie until the two of them apologized and said they’d go to bed, leaving Herc, Peggy and Laf singing along to the end-credits.   
  
[*] They speedwalked down the hallway to the bathroom and John hurried to open the door. He barely had time to turn around fully until it was thrown shut and locked behind them again and Alex roughly pushed him up against the tiles of the wall.  
  
John swore, slightly startled, but his sentence ended in a gasp when Alex kissed him hungrily. John eagerly kissed him back, their teeth clashing and noses bumping together every now and then, causing them both to laugh into their mouths. Alex’ hands roamed everywhere, running up and down John’s sides, beneath his t-shirt, palming his ass, clutching at his lower back and tugging at his hair, always urging him to come closer, always pulling him in and leaving hot trails wherever they went.  
  
Alex started sucking at his neck at some point, grazing his teeth over his skin and nipping at his earlobe, and John felt his knees weakening.  
  
He let out a strangled moan, and Alex leaned back a bit, shushing him with a faint, cocky grin on his lips.  
  
“Hey, _quiet_. It’s your roommates across the hall, not mine, but I’ll have to deal with their shit tomorrow, too, if you don’t manage to keep it down.” He whispered.   
  
John only managed to mumble a quiet “ _Fuck you_.” and found himself too aroused to care if their friends heard them as Alex pulled him back in by his collar, latching his mouth onto his again and sliding his leg between John’s trembling thighs, grinding down on his already hardening cock. John couldn’t hold back the whine that he let out into Alex’ mouth. _Fuck it, let them hear; I don’t even care.  
  
_ After a while, Alex came up for breath from the spot on John’s neck that he was kissing and looked at him with a mix of adoration and hunger, and John let out a breathy laugh. “Jesus- did I tell you that I really missed you when you were with your mother?” He smiled lightheadedly and carded his hand through Alex’ hair, pulled the elastic out of it and slid it over his own wrist to watch it frame Alex’ flushed face. Alex grinned goofily and buried himself back in John’s neck, eliciting another gasp from him. He let out an appreciative hum and ran his hand down John’s stomach beneath his t-shirt – _when had it even gotten there_? - smiling when he felt the muscle twitch beneath his touch.   
  
He let his fingers ghost over the faint trail of hair below John’s navel and started to untie the strings of his sweatpants, tugging his briefs down along with them and taking John’s flushed, erect cock in hand. He smiled sweetly up at him as he slowly got down on his knees next to the bathtub – this morning, they had brushed their teeth sitting on the edge of it. His hand stroked John loosely, driving him mad as he bucked his hips up with another strained, needy moan.  
  
“Alex…” he breathed, cracking his eyes open just an inch – _when had he even closed them_? – to look down at the other boy, who was now licking precome off the tip of his swollen cock, groaning lowly at the taste of it. John closed his eyes again, unable to catch his breath.   
  
“Good God, Alex, _please_ , I… It’s already – _only_ – uh, _oh_ _fuck_ -” Alex was licking up the underside of his length, and John bent his head forward, squeezing his eyes shut, his mouth falling open. What was he going to say again? Ah, right. “– it’s only been a day, but I just…” he trailed off again when Alex pressed a soft kiss to the small space of exposed skin, the gap between undone sweatpants and t-shirt.  
  
“Breathe, John. I missed you, too.” Alex huffed a sheepish laugh at the sincerity in his own voice, his breath hot on John’s skin before he finally, _finally_ took him into his wet, hot mouth.  
  
A stifled sob escaped John’s lips and he cracked his head back against the wall, nails digging half-moons into the smooth skin of Alex’ shoulder blades.  
  
The dark city outside the small, milk-glass window of the even darker bathroom stopped moving for a while.  
  
  
LATER, they were in bed, cleaned up, shower-damp limbs intertwined, buried beneath blankets, the window cracked open to let some fresh air and the sounds of bars and late-night taxis in, keeping Alex, but not John awake.   
  
John had fallen asleep almost instantly, exhausted with the events of the day and specifically the bathroom, but Alex just couldn’t get his thoughts of nothing in particular to stop.  
  
He lifted his head from John’s chest, reluctantly stopping to listen to his heartbeat, and looked up at him, watching his boyfriend – _boyfriend!!!_ It was just absurd – sleep.   
  
John’s even, peppermint-scented breaths and his freckles in the dark, his skin looking soft and orange-yellowish in the light of the streetlights on the street below their window, his lips dark and full and opened slightly, _mouth breather,_ it was all just hypnotizing. Alex was simply infatuated with the sight of him, and the way he seemed so young when he was asleep, _only nineteen after all, not even fully grown up_ , so vulnerable and precious and usually restless yet calm now, his guard down, and perfect, and _alive_ , j _ust a little more alive than the rest of us.  
  
_ “John? John, I think I’m Eugene and you’re Rapunzel. You’re so much prettier than me.” Alex whispered, not able to keep quiet any longer. He watched John sigh sleepily and turn his head away from his voice a little.  
  
“Go to sleep.” he mumbled, voice rasp and drunk with sleep and muffled by the pillow and his damp hair.  
  
Alex shifted a little with an unpleased look on his face and leaned more over him, pecking the warm skin of John’s neck to get his sleepy-eyed attention. “I mean it! John. You’re so pretty.” He nuzzled further into him when he didn’t open his eyes. _Give me attention, give me attention, please…  
  
_ John groaned again, slowly but surely waking up again. He reluctantly cracked his eyes open and glanced down at Alex with a scowl before covering his eyes with the back of his hand. “Alex, we gotta be up early tomorrow again. We should really sleep. Tomorrow’s a work day.” He murmured. Alex couldn’t keep from smiling to himself.   
  
“I like it when you say that.” He noticed.  
  
“What?” John looked back down at him, and Alex shrugged, leaning against him.   
  
“That we have to work tomorrow. It sounds like I’m actually at home now.” He replied quietly, watching the shadow of a tree dance on the wall. The elevated train passed in the distance while John chuckled and kissed the top of his head with a smile. He slung one arm around Alex’ shoulder and pulled him in, his hand resting on the back of his head. “Go to sleep. We’ll do as I said and get your books tomorrow, and then you will be properly at home.” He said, thinking that their talk was over, but Alex shrugged his arm off and got on his elbows, trailing senseless patterns on John’s chest to replace his own head.   
  
John opened his eyes again with a frown, but Alex refused to look at him, staring instead at a wrinkle in the white bedsheet. “But… that doesn’t mean I have to give up my own apartment, does it? I mean, it’s not like I am _emotionally dependent_ on it or whatever, but… just in case you get tired of me and throw me out in two weeks…” he muttered shyly, drawing leaves on the other boy’s sternum through his t-shirt with his index finger. John sat up a little more, leaning back on his elbows and nudging Alex gently until he was looking at him. “Alex, I would never…” he attempted, but one hurt look from Alex immediately shut him up.   
  
“ _Just in case_ , okay? I just can’t really be sure if you won’t get tired of listening to me rant for hours soon, because that’s just what it’s been like every time until now… It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s more that I don’t entirely trust myself, you know… Well, a _nyway_. I just- I would like to keep my own apartment for now. Just in case.” Alex swallowed a tiny lump in his throat and tried not to listen to the nagging voice in the back of his head that was telling him that he _should just disappear from John’s life altogether, that he would be a lot better off without him and his emotional baggage anyway.  
  
_ John was frowning at him softly, but nodded after a moment, smiling faintly and leaning in to kiss Alex’ forehead softly. “Of course, you can keep it, it’s your choice, and I’m not trying to pressure you into this. Just… Let me tell you that I will probably, honest to God, _never_ get tired of listening to you, okay. Just. By the way. We should sleep now, and we’ll figure this out together tomorrow, okay? Let’s go to sleep, Baby Girl.” John said, his voice adoring and sincere, drawing a watery smile from Alex. He looked at John as he churned the pillow a little to return it to its fluffier, natural state and smiled wider. _I love this boy,_ he thought, _I love him so much, and I don’t deserve any of him, but I’m so glad that he seems to think differently.  
  
_ John fell back into the pillow now and pulled Alex back into his arms who relaxed into him when he kissed his forehead again before closing his eyes.  
  
“I love you.” Alex whispered into the grey fabric of his sleep shirt.  
  
“Same.” John mumbled, already drifting off again. Alex snorted into his chest.  
  
“Wow, you’re lazy as fuck. Saying _same_ to a love confession? Seriously?” he nudged John’s shoulder playfully, and John shoved his own in response, smiling even though he didn’t want to. “Go _the fuck_ to sleep, Hamilton…” he groaned.   
  
Alex felt his smile falling from his lips slowly. He clung on to John’s torso tighter and watched the tree’s shadow dance again, quiet for a while before replying. “I can’t. I’m too afraid I’m dreaming already, ‘cause _you’re_ _here_ and I get to hold you. What if that’s gonna be a dream inside a dream then and you have to splash water into my face…” he was cut off by John.  
  
“I love you, too.” Alex blinked, awoken from his half-day-half-actual dream of Leonardo DiCaprio throwing a plastic cup of water at him and looked up at John. “What?” he asked.  
  
John glanced at him quickly before facing the ceiling. “Like, you’re right. _Same_ was a bit lazy. So, I love you, too. A real lot.” Alex watched the motion of his Adam’s apple in the semi-darkness and felt himself smile again sleepily. “Don’t get all emotional on me.” He teased, and John groaned, ruffling his hair and touching his cheek softly.   
  
“Go to _sleep_ …” he sing-song-ed, and Alex put his head back on his chest reluctantly. “Alright, Alright.” He snarled, unable to suppress a yawn. John yawned a satisfied “That’s what I’m talking about.” along with him. Alex closed his eyes.   
  
He could hear John’s heartbeat again, slow, steady, _still there.  
  
Always there.   
  
Always right there, isn’t he?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was... interesting...........  
> How did y'all like the different perspectives on this chapter and all that? Especially Rachel ugh Gawd she was hard to write.... But also super interesting so it was fine.
> 
> * The quotes from book John is reading are from 'Kitchen' by Banana Yoshimoto, and amazingly inspiring book about coming of age and death and all that jazz. It's incredible, go check it out!
> 
> Lemme just tell you that this fic is pretty much exactly halfway over and that this ^ was the happy half. So. Um. Please don't hurt me I guess. Also I wanted to let you know that Lams is definitely endgame in case any of you were having anxiety about it. Because I probably would. But well. That's just me.  
> Please tell me what you thought and be honest, I'm pretty insecure about this chapter.


	11. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Sunday, Alex' and John's "one-week anniversary", and John has big plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy. I worked all night and fought with my parents for this one and it's messy and sad and unbeta'd, but here you go anyway. There's an explicit scene (take what you can get and give nothing back), it's marked with this thing: [*] so if you aren't into explicit stuff, just skip a few paragraphs.  
> I hope you enjoy!

  
  
THEY DIDN’T GET ALEX’ BOOKS THE NEXT DAY, or the day after that or the day after that. Every time the conversation came near the subject of moving in with each other, Alex tended to smoothly change the subject, and John, of course, noticed, but decided not to dwell on it for too long or confront Alex about it.

He decided it was better to just settle into their new routine together, let Alex get used to his new work circumstances, try not to drive Eliza and Herc mad in the process and just see how things turned out.  
  
John hadn’t actually expected things to change as little as they did. It was as if nothing had happened, honestly, and John was quite happy about that. Most things stayed exactly the same.  
  
Alex made Burr change his visiting hours at the hospital and worked the morning shift with him from now on while Herc and Eliza took over the afternoon shift. After lunchbreak, John and Alex either hung out at one of the shops, went home early or visited Rachel together.  
  
They would sit at her bed and just talk to her, and one day, in the middle of the conversation, Alex took John’s hand and squeezed it slightly, startling John to death as he glanced up at Rachel quickly, and found that she wasn’t even looking at them. She was just still talking to Alex, as if her son wasn’t just holding another boy’s hand.  
  
John was entirely unfamiliar with the idea that a parent could be not homophobic but supportive of their child’s sexuality. The fact that Rachel didn’t even give them a weird look only made him like her even more. He was pretty sure that his mother wouldn’t have minded if she’d even lived long enough to find out that he was gay, either, but his father, oh, he had minded. A lot.  
  
His father had been the mayor of Charleston for two periods while John came of age, and when his father somehow found out that he had kissed another boy in his all-boys-boarding school in Geneva, he had immediately taken him out of that school and put him into some rich-jocks-punching-gays-private high school in Charleston. That was also when he started hitting John, at the age of fourteen, because of _whom he loved_ , no, because of the _gender_ of the people he loved, because of something _he couldn’t even change_.  
  
It was, honestly, just ridiculous.  
  
So the fact that Rachel didn’t seem to mind two boys, one of them being her son, holding hands right in front of her just made him want to smile about what a wonderful gift to humanity this woman was, and also cry about the unfairness of it all, about the unfairness of the fact that some people had to grow up around people like his father while other people got to grow up around people like her.  
  
THE DAYS PASSED NONETHELESS, and soon, the weekend came around again, and late on a Sunday morning, Alex woke up in John’s sun flooded room alone in their bed.  
  
Looking around himself, his heads still buried in the pillow, he smiled sleepily. John had pulled up the blinds, knowing how much Alex loved sleeping in and then waking up with the sun already tangled in the sheets. He yawned and pushed his hair away from his forehead, putting it up into a halfhearted ponytail before reaching for his phone on the floor.  
  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Biitch where are you  
**JLau  
** Aaah shit you’re up  
I’m just getting something  
I’ll be right back  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Where are you  
I miss you J  
**JLau  
** Naaw  
Also who is J  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** It’s what I’m gonna call you when I want sex from now on  
**JLau  
** Oh  
Okay  
Go back to sleep  
I’ll be there when you wake up  
  
Alex dropped himself back into the warmth of the pillow with a slightly frustrated sound when John went offline and closed his eyes again, drifting off into the quiet of the apartment. His boyfriend was obviously – sadly – not home, and Laf, Herc and Peggy neither, they were probably already at work, so he was alone, and rewarded with a rare moment of complete, sleepy silence. Oh, Alex just _loved_ Sundays.  
  
He sighed happily and, letting out what almost sounded like a satisfied purr and pulled the warm blanket up to his chin, feeling himself already falling asleep again.  
  
  
[*] ABOUT TWENTY MINUTES LATER, he was awoken again, by someone pressing hot kisses to his neck. That someone was fully dressed and above him, curls tickling Alex’ skin, and he cracked his eyes open with an approving hum.  
  
John was smiling down at him, hands on either side of his head. He was wearing one of Alex’ hoodies, the grey MCR one; the hood and the shoulders were slightly wet, and Alex frowned, turning his head ever so slightly to look out of the window. He groaned, not only because it had, in fact, started raining – April weather was so weird – but also because John started kissing his neck again, lazily sucking at his skin, his damp hair tickling Alex’ jaw as he pushed him down into the mattress with the weight of his body.  
  
“Well- “His breath hitched when John found his already racing pulse and bit down on his skin gently “-good morning.” Alex grinned, lightheadedly sliding his hand up John’s back and holding him close, quite enjoying not actually having to do anything himself while John made his way down his bare chest and stomach, kissing mole after mole and making Alex curl into his touch every now and then.  
  
“Good morning yourself.” John muttered, his voice muffled and evidently carrying a smile to Alex’ ears from where his face was buried against Alex’ heaving abdomen. His hands were on Alex’ hips now, cool fingers making him shudder and groan. John suddenly pulled away to pull his hoodie over his head and throw it aside before he pinned Alex back in place and bent back down to suck at the skin of his hipbone, breathing heavily against his skin.  
  
“You- fuck, John, where-” John sat back on his heels and watched Alex open his eyes lazily at the loss of contact. He slid a cold-skinned hand over his thigh and over the growing bulge in his boxers with a grin, then popped the button of his own jeans and slid down his underwear, too. Alex watched him pull himself from his boxers, half-hard already, and stroke himself slowly a couple of times with his eyes wandering Alex’ body. He imagined himself guiding the motion of John’s hand, imagined making him shiver and moan, and couldn’t hold back a shallow, desirous breath at just the thought of it as he watched John hardening in his own hand. _Sweet Jesus, he’s hot, why is he so hot? This isn’t fair!_  
  
John forced himself with what seemed like physical exertion to pull his gaze away from Alex’ bare, flushed chest and back up to his face and then bent back down to mouth against Alex’ jawline again. Alex didn’t even bother to keep quiet when John pressed himself closer, pressing his groin flush against Alex’, his erection feeling hot even through Alex’ boxers. He gripped John’s upper arm hard, obscenities falling from his lips.  
  
“You weren’t lying when you said that you missed me.” John muttered with a smirk. Alex let out a breathy scoff. “Why the fuck would I – _ah_ \- lie about that?” he muttered, then tipped his head back, moaning loudly as a sudden spark of pleasure ran through him when John ground down on his hard cock again. Alex watched rain dripple down the glass of the window and heard himself moan John’s name again when John slowly slid his underwear down to cup his half-hard shaft. Alex’ eyes slipped shut.  
  
While John worked him in his hand, still half dressed, Alex’ thoughts trailed off to how dangerous morning sex must be for people with circulatory disturbances while his heart, apparently sort of startled by so much action right after waking up, thudded loudly in his chest. John moved his hand over him, stroking him and running his thumb over his slit until he was rewarded with a sudden slight warmth and a low, needy whine. John leaned up to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, shushing him quietly.  
  
“I got you, Baby Girl.” he whispered, quoting himself how Alex noticed as he buried his face in the crook of Alex’ neck. He looked down as he wrapped his long fingers around both of their cocks, leaning in and gasping against Alex’ lips as he worked them together. When he wanted to pull out of the kiss to return his full attention to the movement of his hand, Alex grabbed him by his neck and held him in place, staring up at him out of wide, dark eyes, his lips parted as he panted hard, at a complete loss of words, holding back sobs with every movement of John’s fingers. He was shaking uncontrollably by now, whimpering as they both fucked into John’s hand, slick shafts dragging against each other.  
  
“Kiss me. _Please_ , John.” He breathed desperately, and John obliged, leaning down to slip his tongue in past Alex’ lips and kiss him attentively, slowly, the rhythm of his hand getting a little uneven. Alex tried to kiss him back just as thoroughly, but failed to do so when he was taken by surprise by his own orgasm, rushing hot through him and washing everything white as John’s name tumbled off his lips again, mixed with little gasps, each of them ending in a small cry. John came with him, squeezing his eyes shut as his lips parted in a quiet little moan.  
  
He let go of their shafts and collapsed half on top of Alex, apparently not caring if he, too got come on himself, and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in his neck and nuzzling him sleepily.  
  
Alex stared at the ceiling and waited until he could catch his breath again, then lifted his voice. “Now, where have you been?” he asked, threading a weak, shaking hand through John’s damp hair. It smelled like rain and cheap bakeries in the morning.  
  
John smiled against his skin softly. “It’s a surprise.” He muttered, his voice slurry, as if he was about to fall back asleep, which he probably was. Alex watched the side of John’s stomach move as he breathed; counted John’s freckles and John’s breaths and waited for nothing in particular until his own eyes slipped shut, too.  
  
  
THE NEXT TIME HE WOKE UP was when John whispered his name an unidentifiable amount of time, minutes or hours later, a smile in his voice.  
  
“Alex… come on, wake up, take this, it’s heavy…” John nudged his shoulder with something warm and smooth, and Alex reluctantly opened his eyes, sitting up a little. His hair felt heavy and it was still raining. Someone had wiped their come off his stomach.  
  
John was kneeling beside him, carrying two big mugs of what smelled like coffee, which he both handed Alex. While John stood and walked to their dresser to dig out an old Black Lives Matter-campaign shirt and a new pair of boxers for Alex – they were ruining them in record time, they had to go buy some new ones twice already this week –he looked down at the cups. One coffee was with milk, and the other was entirely black, and Alex couldn’t suppress a smile.  
  
_He remembers how I take my coffee. He’s like, the first person ever who does._

  
John sat back down next to him and handed him the clothes, watching as he pulled the t-shirt over his head. “What is this?” he asked, grinning at the cups and then at John with a curious look. John just shrugged and then stood, disappeared out of the room and shouted “I’ll be right back!”  
  
Alex frowned after him and wriggled into the boxers, too, putting them on without getting up and then checked his phone as it vibrated.  
  
**Børr**  
Are you coming today or not  
I figured I’d just ask since you tend to not show up on Sundays  
Also Rachel has an appointment with GWash today anyway so you don’t really have to come  
  
Alex listened to cutlery clattering in the kitchen and considered for a moment, then thought of last Sunday, and what potential of being alone with John for eight hours Sundays had, blushed even though nobody could see him, and typed a quick reply.  
  
**A.Ham  
** Yeah no I’m not coming in today  
If that’s okay  
Tell Rachel, I said Hi  
  
He locked his phone when John came back into the room, carrying a tray full of breakfast utensils. Alex made a happy noise as he carefully sat back down on the mattress with it, putting it down in front of Alex and then crawling around it to sit next to him. He crossed his legs and smiled at Alex.  
  
“Okay, so this is probably kind of ridiculous, but- today is our one-week anniversary and-I don’t know. I wanted to make this day about you, about us- why are you laughing?” John snapped when Alex snickered, burying his head in John’s shoulder softly, hair tumbling into his face as he grasped the front of John’s red t-shirt and ran his hand over his chest slowly.  
  
“Aah, John.” He lifted his head with a goofy, but sweet smile and a flushed face when John kicked him in the shin, almost knocking over one of the bowls on the tray. “What’s so fucking funny about it, asshat?” John crossed his arms, blushing as Alex tugged at his sleeve and leaned over to kiss his cheek quickly.  
  
“Nothing. Nothing and everything. It’s just… firstly, is a one-week anniversary actually a thing people celebrate, and secondly, as if any of your days weren’t about me.” He was smirking now, leaning his chin onto John’s shoulder and watching the side of his face as its shade of red grew darker.  
  
“Concerning ‘secondly’, Hamilton, I think you have some serious narcissism issues. And concerning ‘firstly’, I think that considering how emotionally constipated we both are, and how long it took us to get here, and since we are a non-straight, non-white couple and should therefore be glad that one of us wasn’t stabbed to death by a Nazi or a Trump-supporter in some dark alleyway yet, times are wild, God bless America, fuck _yes_ we are celebrating our one-week anniversary!” John bit, hitting Alex with his pillow.  
  
There were two pillows in their bed by now, ever since they had agreed that one pillow was simply too small for both of them and John’s hair. After Alex had spent an entire night of constantly being awoken by pained noises that John made when Alex accidentally put his head on his mess of curls that took up about the entirety of their pillow, they went to Ikea and bought another set of pillow and blanket, along with green bedsheets to not match John’s blue ones.  
  
Alex let out a strangled yelp when John just missed him a few inches with the pillow and moved a bit away, shouting “Sorry!” When he was sure that John wasn’t planning any more attacks, he grabbed a peach from the tray and took a small bite of it while he looked at John with a fond smile, hair in his face.  
  
“But are you seriously pulling the Trump card here, John? Don’t joke about that stuff,” Alex muttered, and John shrugged, popping a piece of peach into his mouth. Alex rolled his eyes, the start of a smile creeping onto his face as he tipped his head towards John. He watched intently as John licked the sticky fruit juice off his fingertips, lips parting.  
  
“… alright, though, I’ll get onboard with breakfast in bed. You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he teased, and John snorted, his wet fingertips leaving damp trails on Alex’ shirt as he twined his hand in the front of it, trying to pull him in for a kiss. Alex stopped him, a hand in his hair, grinned and breathed a “thank you,” then cupped John’s jaw with his free hand, and when they kissed, Alex’ lips tasted like coffee and peach, and John thought that even though Alex was a terrible know-it-all and just pissed him off at times, he’d never really been happier. Alex just kept establishing new records of happiness for John; he could already, of about one and a half months of knowing Alex, think of a thousand moments he wanted to capture and stow away in twist-off-jars, to look at them whenever he felt lonely.  
  
How strange it was that just one person coming into his life could shift his perspective on everything and turn him, John Laurens, of all people, into an optimist.  
  
Alex pulled away at some point and took another sip of his coffee, smiling at John over the edge of his cup. John pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them, listening to Alex sarcastically complimenting his coffee-making-skills and wiping a small drop of peach-juice off of his chin. John felt himself smiling.  
  
_Alexander Hamilton is probably the best thing that ever happened to me.  
  
_ He knew that thought didn’t give enough credit to the environment of New York City, his art and all his other friends, but he was sitting here, in his bed, watching Alex, his boyfriend, who was also in his bed and wearing his t-shirt chew on a peach and meanwhile start to rant about populism with a slight frown on his face, his hair in a messy, slowly dissolving bun, and it was raining outside, but in here, it was warm, in here they were safe, and John didn’t ever want to leave this bed.  
  
  
THEY DID LEAVE THE BED AT SOME POINT, after all; John had made plans for today, nice plans that he wasn’t going to give up on. When the croissants that John had gone out for were nothing but a few crumbs on their plates and their coffee mugs were empty, they got up lazily and stumbled across the hall and into the shower. They tended to shower together, supposedly saving water, but the long, long, vanilla-scented times they spent massaging soap into each other’s skin and washing shampoo out of each other’s hair and making out beneath the shower head for ages probably destroyed any positive environmental impact they had made.  
  
After what felt like hours, they got out of the shower, brushed their teeth, got dressed and rolled out of the apartment at almost half to 2pm. John refused to tell Alex where he was taking him all the way on the subway; they didn’t get seats and stood, John holding on to a rod and Alex holding on to John, and every time Alex asked what his plans where, John would smile in secrecy and say something along the lines of ‘Just you wait.’  
  
They got off at the Brooklyn Museum Station and Alex let himself be pulled through a mildly busy station that he’d never been to and up a flight of stairs by John until there was rain in his face. He pulled the hood of his jacket on with his free hand and looked around himself, disoriented as John guided him down a wide, paved sidewalk. Old looking, tall houses with stuccoed facades in whitewashed, sun-bleached colors stood in large gardens on the other side of the wide street that they were crossing, tall trees stuck out from behind a wall on this side, and everything was covered in the slightly rushed everyone-wants-to-get-everywhere-fast-atmosphere of rainy days in big cities.  
  
John and Alex pushed their way through the crowds of Sunday-tripping middle-class families chasing down the sidewalk and John smiled back at him when Alex squeezed his hand, demanding his attention. “I hate surprises, tell me where we’re going!” he nagged, and John just let out a chuckle, barely audible over the noise of traffic, rain, feet on concrete and parents shouting after their children. “You’re honestly the most impatient person I know.” he muttered as he pulled Alex out of the crowd on the sidewalk and through a tall, white iron gate.  
  
They were on a wide gravel road now, surrounded by groups of tourists and more families, and Alex, after a moment of looking around himself recognizing the glass of tall, old greenhouses beyond wide, well-taken-care-of lawns, gravel paths and beds filled with colorful spring flowers, their smell intensified to something sweet and light in the rain. He couldn’t hold back a scoff.  
  
“The Brooklyn Botanic Gardens?” he asked with his eyebrows raised. John nudged his shoulder as he pulled a reluctant Alex towards the check in.  
  
“Come on, it’ll be amazing! Be a little more positive about this, okay? Do it for me. Because _you_ _love_ _me_.” John smiled a cheesy smile when they lined up in the queue behind a violently kissing, middle-aged straight couple. Alex threw them a slightly irritated look, then looked at John, who was still smiling hopefully, and then let out a sigh of defeat. He leaned against John’s shoulder and reached for his hand again, obviously giving in, not even quite knowing why he’d made an effort to resist John’s choice of date in the first place. It was actually an incredibly cute idea that Alex had always wanted to do, and so he stood on his toes and kissed John’s cheek lightly, smiling apologetically against his skin.  
  
“Alright. I have to admit; my Tumblr will thank me. This is fucking _adorable_ , and John? I read that there’s turtles in the orchid house, so. This will be good. Thank you for taking me.” John looked at his smile for a moment, then snorted.  
  
“A), Hamilton, I’m only going because of the turtles – no, for real, I knew that there are turtles here, and I visited them before, and you don’t get to call me a nerd because of that – and B) you have a Tumblr? You never told me that and now I am very, _very_ interested in following and stalking you and judging your tags.” John smirked when Alex started protesting and then wrapped his arm around his shoulder, ruffling his hair adoringly.  
  
The straight couple separated to get their tickets, paid and left, and John got out his wallet, too, insisting that he paid for both of them because Alex was ‘ _broke as fuck’_ and he was the trust fund baby of the two of them. Alex gave in after a while.  
  
When they had their tickets, there was a very short discussion on where they would go first, which ended when John rolled his eyes, snarled something in Spanish about orchids, turtles and Alex being a sinful donkey – or something like that, like Alex said, his Spanish was the rustiest of things – and dragged Alex towards the big greenhouse with an excited grin.  
  
Inside the air was humid and smelled intoxicatingly like tropical plants. It was warm and quiet, and Alex immediately sensed a calmness settling inside him that he always felt when he was surrounded by plants. They started strolling, Alex refusing to let go of John’s hand, made their way through the crowd of people, fingers intertwined, their silence only interrupted by occasional jokes about penis-shaped cacti or ridiculous Latin plant names. They walked beneath tall bamboos and monsteras, Alex pointing at especially pretty of big plants and flowers occasionally with an excited expression. John would hum and grin and mock him for being such a plant nerd, and Alex would roll his eyes and afterwards nuzzle into it.  
  
When they reached the orchid house, John was the one to let out a happy squeal and wriggle his hand free of Alex’ grasp. He ran ahead, leaving Alex and his fond chuckle far behind as he pushed the door open and tiptoed into the warm greenhouse. They searched for the supposedly free walking turtles and found them soon, and Alex took a couple of thousand pictures of John watching them with a very rare, childish glow in his eyes, his hands holding on to his buckled knees.  
  
It was in moments like these when Alex realized why he loved John so much.  
  
He reminded him of a time that had passed long ago, a childhood, a _real_ childhood with birthday parties and petty fights with siblings and laughing, teasing friends and dogs with big eyes and warmth, and company, and love, and consistency. This childhood probably hadn’t ever existed properly for either of them, but especially not for John.  
  
They rarely ever talked about how he’d come of age, but Alex had a rough impression of what had happened to him. There was an outline, a conclusions Alex had been able to make out of hushed half-sentences and John telling him about nightmares he’d had. He couldn’t imagine, couldn’t grasp with words what deep, irremovable, irreparable damage John’s father had done, and Alex knew that John did not want to be forced to talk about it too often, so Alex had stopped trying at some point.  
  
But simply the fact that John managed to smile so often in spite of everything that had happened to him, the fact that he still seemed to find real, profound happiness in all the misery and shallowness of the world gave Alex hope, _so much_ hope, which had always been the thing he lacked the most.  
  
And John had it; it was like he, without conscious effort, held every hope Alex could ever wish for; like he was every hope Alex had ever had in human form.  
  
That was why Alex loved him.  
  
John made him believe in a future and in the world he inhabited, he lent his jacket and blanket and arms for shelter, filled Alex’ heart with warmth and gave him a feeling of consistency that Alex hadn’t known he needed until now.

He held the possibility for Alex’ to live a proper second childhood; the allowance for him to give in and be small and immature and sad for no apparent reason and cry about things and curl up in someone’s lap and sleep in late with someone holding his hand and make dumb jokes and someone showing him what he had to do.  
  
Alex watched John gushing about turtles and smiled and thought _it’s true, I’m a kid, and I need him and I love him because he gives me the feeling that that’s okay because he is here to hold me.  
And I just want him to know that, I need him to know how much he gives me. How much I want to give him back but don’t know if I can, because I’m fucked up and cold and I don’t even know what he needs me to be for him, and when he needs me to be there for him, and what to do if he is crying. I don’t know anything about people, I don’t know how to deal with sadness, neither someone else’s nor my own.  
  
_ Alex startled slightly when John’s face suddenly lit up and he grabbed Alex’ hand to pull him closer. Alex gave a surprised yelp, shoving his phone that he’d been taking pictures with away, and John shushed him, a _don’t-scare-the-turtles-away_ -shush. He pointed his free hand at a particularly small turtle swimming in one of the ponds and smiled at Alex widely.  
  
“ _That’s you_.” John mouthed, and Alex smiled back briefly. He watched the turtle swim to the edge of the pond and crawl ashore laboriously, across a rock and towards another, bigger, very pissed-looking turtle – all of these turtles looked kind of pissed, how Alex noticed, and he found it weirdly relatable.  
  
“Then that’s you.” He whispered back and pointed at the other turtle, holding back the very cheesy rest of his sentence. _Because you are the one thing I’ll always want, I’ll never get tired of, my center of gravity, my dearest John Laurens with his steamrolled turtles and his goofy, sleepy, widest morning smile and his weird coffee preferences and his oversized Doc Martens. It’s you. Always you.  
  
_ “Ham. That’s probably his _mom_ , Ham. What the fuck, did you just assume my gender?” John giggled when Alex shoved his side with an eye-roll.  
  
“We _definitely_ use that meme way too often. Peggy sends it to me at least three times a day, and I hate it.” Alex grumbled, and John just laughed harder and pulled him to his feet.  
  
“Come one. Let’s give Mama turtle and lil boi Alex some privacy.” He smirked once more, and Alex rolled his eyes again, and then John was re-intertwining their fingers and pulling Alex towards the exit.  
  
When they left the greenhouse, it was raining harder. The tulips and peonies in the beds bent beneath the heavy weight of mercilessly falling raindrops and the park had emptied a bit; most of the visitors had taken refuge in the small park café in the distance beyond a group of beautifully blooming cherry trees.  
  
They decided to not go to the café yet since it seemed to be stuffed with customers already and started walking again, strolling between beds of flowers, sharing John’s blue bomber jacket – that was, in fact, still Lafayette’s but was worn by John more often which was why everyone referred to it as John’s by now. John pointed at random flowers and asked Alex for their names; most of them, he didn’t know, but he learned a lot of new ones this way.  
  
After a while, John went quiet, and started staring at his feet, and Alex squeezed his rain-damp hand, carefully nudging his shoulder for attention.  
  
“Hey? John, are… you alright?” Alex hated asking that question; in the end, people always ended up saying they were alright, which was why it was practically a waste of precious breath, but for some reason, Alex kept doing it anyway.  
  
John glance up at him briefly, nodding with a soft smile. “Yes, I’m fine, it’s just… I keep thinking of why I intentionally brought you here.” He replied seriously. Alex lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not going to propose to me, are you?” he asked with a grin and John blushed, shaking his head quickly.  
  
“No! Well, no, not yet, anyway.” Now it was Alex’ time to blush, and John flicked his eyes up at him briefly to watch, then took a breath.  
  
“I… I brought you here because I hoped it’d help you settle in a bit. I used to go here all the time when I’d just moved to New York. I don’t know. I mean… it helped me a lot to come here. I went every time it rained. Which, in autumn, was a lot of days.” John kicked a rock and watched it roll into the grass at the side of the path. Alex noticed that they had stopped walking now; this whole moment, the cherry trees, the way he was holding on to John, it all reminded him of something, but he couldn’t quite make out what it was.  
  
“Before I met the others, I just needed some way to keep myself calm and occupied on the… bad days” John went on, looking at the raindrops on his dark jeans with a sad smile. “I would go here and sit for hours and draw flowers and trees and stuff and I’d fill entire sketch pads in just one week with crappy flowers, and it just helped me so much, you know. It was so important to me, the silence and the clarity of this place. It helped me get used to New York for some weird reason. So… I thought that if I brought you here, you would maybe finally stop thinking about leaving, too, and don’t try to deny it, I know you’re still scared of settling, letting things get to you and all that.” John shrugged almost sheepishly, and Alex, watching the side of his face, swallowed hard.  
  
John was right. Of course, the thought of leaving New York did still come up sometimes, especially when he was checking his email and saw that invitation letter from Philadelphia University that was still in his inbox. It came up way less than it used to, but it still did.  
  
The fact that John could tell he still hadn’t entirely arrived here made him want to cry for a brief second. Was John actually afraid Alex would _leave_ him? How could he think something like that?  


Or was it really that preposterous?  
  
“Are you- “he attempted, but John cut him off with a wave of his hand.  
  
“I know it’s dumb as fuck, okay? I know I can’t make you stay if you really want to leave, and I won’t try to, either. But… I’m just scared, Alex… I’m terrified that this- I don’t want us to be temporary. I don’t think I’ve ever actually loved someone before, but this feels _real_ , and I don’t want it to just fade away, or, or break apart, or- “  
  
Alex cut John’s shaking voice off by pulling him into his arms and burying his face in his shoulder. After a beat of silence, John’s fists clenched around the fabric at the back of Alex’ jacket and Alex felt his shoulder shake just slightly.  
  
He ran his hand up and down John’s back and imagined that the reason John’s shoulders were shaking were waves rolling through his body, an unforgiving sea in his chest, vicious and cruel and playing with his little heart like a hurricane playing with a boat. Alex imagined he could smooth them down, these waves. He shushed John as they stood beneath the blooming cherry trees, intertwined and quiet until the waves stopped, and Alex was the first to pull away.  
  
He held John’s face in his hands and forced him to look at him. “John-” He began gently, cutting himself off again to wipe John’s slightly damp, warm cheeks. “I will not leave you. I promise. And as long as you want me in your life, I will be there.”  
  
After a beat, John nodded slowly, and Alex nodded, too, and smiled again, and tried not to listen to the voice in the back of his head that was hissing at him _how he could possibly make promises he wasn’t sure he would keep like this, to John of all people, who obviously couldn’t stand people lying to him anymore.  
  
_ They kept walking shoulder to shoulder beneath John’s jacket, and Alex worked hard to focus on the warmth of John at his side, and how much he loved him and didn’t want to lose him and not on how sure he was that this would, just like everything else, somehow end at some point, and that he would inevitably break John’s heart.  
  
How could he be sure this wasn’t going to be temporary? Wasn’t _everything_ in life temporary? That was what numerous therapists had said about depressive episodes of his, that _the pain was just temporary_ , but if the pain was temporary, why shouldn’t the happiness be, as well?  
  
Alex glanced at John for a moment and watched him wipe at his eyes furtively, and found himself swaying in closer. John smiled at him faintly when he nudged his shoulder and nudged back, watching his feet. Alex spotted a cherry blossom sticking out of John’s damp bun. He forced himself to smile.  
  
_He’s_ e _very hope you ever had in human form. You never let something like that go.  
  
So fuck, if you don’t want it to be temporary, then make it stay, Hamilton. If you don’t want it to end, make it last, at any cost, make it last.  
Ask him if you can get your books later. Ask him if his offer still stands. This doesn’t have to be temporary if neither of you want it to be._  
  
John’s fingers brushed against his again and, almost without conscious thought, almost out of habit, Alex reached for it and intertwined their fingers.  
  
  
WHEN THE RAIN BECAME TOO HEAVY TO ENDURE, they ended up going to the café after all. It was packed and warm but surprisingly quiet, and they found a tiny, free corner table, ordered tea for John and coffee for Alex and sat in silence for a while, both chasing after their own thoughts with their notepads open in front of them, working on their respective projects – in John’s case, another drawing of Alex, in Alex’ case, another letter from Jones to Barlough.  
  
Alex couldn’t quite focus on his writing, though; he found himself continuously searching for words to ask John if they could get his stuff form his apartment this evening, but not managing to get them across the lump in his throat.  
  
At 5pm, the rain decreased a little, and John called for the check. He, again, insisted on paying for both of them, then they packed up and followed a stream of visitors slowly walking through the soft drizzle back to the white iron gate.  
  
On the subway, they got a seat this time, and after two stations of sitting in comfortable silence next to each other, Alex let out a sigh and leaned against John’s shoulder, snuggling up to him and his warmth in the cool train wagon. John put his arm around him and looked down at him, smiling softly.  
  
“Did you enjoy today?” he asked quietly, pressing a kiss to Alex temple. Alex hummed. “It was nice.” He murmured, the words slurring together slightly. “I think if you don’t stop me, I’ll fall asleep on you, though. I don’t know why I’m so tired right now, but I am.”  
  
He felt John chuckle more than heard it and looked up at him. John was fighting the wires of his headphones, more of a black pile of wires than anything else – he tended to transport them in his jacket pockets, what an idiot – and when, after some obscenities and muffled shouting, he was done, he handed Alex one of the in-ears, which Alex gladly accepted.  
  
They remained silent during two Tom Odell songs and one Dodie song, then ‘Cancer’ by My Chemical Romance started playing and Alex quickly skipped it, and they listened to something electronic that Alex loved but didn’t know, then Alex reached for the button that was attached to the headphones and paused the music.  
  
“John?” he asked quietly, and John blinked, like he was awaking from a trance. He turned his head towards Alex, squeezing his shoulder slightly. “What is it?”  
  
Alex took a deep breath and moved closer towards John to press a chaste kiss to his neck, the nearest bit of bare skin he could reach. He felt John stiffen beneath him just a little. Alex nuzzled into his side and looked at their touching knees.  
  
“When we’re home, can we get my books?” he asked, still not looking at John, who smiled down at him, surprised.  
  
“Are you… are you sure? You really want to do this?” He lifted his eyebrows and Alex nodded without hesitation before he could decide otherwise. He finally looked up at John with a shy smile when John rubbed circles into his shoulder with his thumb. He was still smiling, the corners of his mouth digging dimples into his freckled cheeks, and there were wrinkles all around his eyes that Alex partly wished to smooth down, partly wished to admire forever.  
  
“Okay.” John suddenly consented with a lightness in is voice. He pulled Alex closer to kiss his temple and run his hand through his damp hair. “Okay.” Alex muttered back, and John grinned, kissing his temple once more before looking at him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.  
  
“Maybe ‘ _okay’_ will be or ‘ _always’_.” He breathed dramatically and giggled childishly when Alex shoved his side.  
  
They got off the subway half an hour later in their street and walked, instead of to John’s apartment, a few blogs further. After rounding a corner, they walked past come-down apartment buildings that all looked the same. Then, they were there, standing in front of Nr.324, the building Alex lived in.  
  
It looked even more depressing than usually in the hazy spray of the rain and the fading light of the day, grey concrete crumbling and fire escape clattering in the wind. It still looked weirdly alive, _welcoming_ even, with the bright lights in the apartments behind the single-glassed windows, though, and for just a second, Alex felt a slight pang of guilt for leaving.  
  
It wasn’t like he was moving out entirely; but is felt just like it, and the thought of leaving this first own apartment behind filled him with a very silent, nostalgic feeling.  
  
Wasn’t it strange how time passed?  
  
In just one month, such a lot of aspects of his life had changed. He had become an entirely different person, a person that moved out of their apartment and into their boyfriend’s apartment, removed and wiped every mark he’d ever left in this place to leave his marks in a new place. Was that really him, this new, more functional, _happier_ person with a job and a schedule and a love life?  
  
Was it really him? Did he _want_ it to be him?  
  
Alex pushed the thoughts to the back of his head and got his barely used keys out of his pocket to unlocked the front door while John eyed the building’s grey façade  
  
“I’ve never actually been here. Did you realize that? Your supposedly crappy apartment could be like, the greatest fucking place, and I would never know because now you’re taking your last stuff to _my_ crappy apartment. That’s weird, I’ve _never been here before_. _So_ weird.” John shook his head and Alex gave a chuckle as he pushed the door open.  
  
“It’s not a particularly great place, John, trust me. It’s the _tiniest_ , just one room about half the size of your living room, the Wi-Fi is slow as fuck, the neighbors have sex at 3am and there’s mold in the bathroom. It’s honestly just gross. You’re not really missing out on anything.” He flicked the lights in the foyer with a nonchalant shrug and held the door open for John to come inside.  
  
They started ascending the inclined stairs in slightly sleepy silence, which was only interrupted by Mr. Dipnall stepping out of his apartment on the first floor and grumbling at Alex to _finally separate his trash._ When Alex said that he hadn’t even been home in about one month, that the unseparated trash was _probably_ not his fault and introduced John to Mr. Dipnall, saying that he’d spent almost all his time at his place for a while, Dipnall gave a short smile to John, muttering something like ‘ _Pleasure, Mr. Laurens’_ and then disappeared again with a distrustful expression towards Alex.  
  
“What’s his deal?” John asked quietly when they had put the distance of one floor between them and Dipnall’s apartment. Alex just shrugged. “He’s lonely, I guess. I’ve never really seen him get a visitor, and he never leaves this place. He’s like Kreacher from Harry Potter. His only friend is the separation of trash.” He said, and John chuckled weakly.  
  
“That’s me in twenty years, to be honest.” He muttered. Alex gave a scoff and turned around halfway to frown at him.  
  
“Not true. In twenty years, you and I will have gotten married and I will be a famous best-selling author and you will be a surprisingly well-paid art tutor at NYAA and we will live in a townhouse and have our groceries delivered in boxes every morning and we’ll have a dog and no kids because kids are demons.” He declared. John snorted and supported himself on the handrail as he stumbled after Alex.  
  
“No kids? And what if I want kids?” he asked when he could catch his breath again. Alex stopped in front of apartment 4c, started unlocking the chipped, red wooden door and frowned at him over his shoulder.  
  
“No kids because I would be a horrible parent because I don’t know how parenting works because of _reasons_. I don’t want kids and if you want kids, I’m getting a divorce, Johnathan.” He grinned at John’s playfully heartbroken expression and pushed the door open.  
  
Inside, they were met with a dark, cold hall, the only light in the room the faint light coming from the windows in the main room. Alex listened to his breathing in the unbearable, almost lifeless silence.  
  
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped into his apartment, beckoning John to follow him inside. He hit the lights by the way through to the main room, and looked around himself.  
  
The scariest thing was that everything looked exactly like he’d left it.  
  
His thick, grey army-store blanket was folded on his futon next to the dark-wooden dresser that had come with the apartment and was way too big for all his clothes. The book he had been reading but had gotten stuck in because he found it depressing to read other people’s amazing work when he was working on something not as good himself, ‘ _A little life’_ by Hanya Yanagihara lay deserted next to his box of tissues, his alarm clock and an empty water bottle by the bed, and there was a layer of dust on the shade of his cheap Ikea bedside lamp that stood on the floor because _who needs a bedside table when I can’t even afford a bedframe_ , as well as on the books in the boxes, the kitchen island and the clean dishes beside the sink.  
  
John stepped into the hall beside him and looked around himself with a curious expression.  
  
“So.” He began, and then paused to give the side of Alex’ face a glance before continuing. “You’re right. This place is kind of a shithole.”  
  
Alex took a breath, murmured “I know, but it’s _my_ shithole.” quietly and then walked towards the dresser slowly, not even bothering to take off his shoes, leaving damp footprints on the wood behind him. He opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and pulled a big backpack out, starting to stuff his clothes into it with vigor, clouds of dust ascending golden into the air around him.  
  
Alex felt a sort of embarrassment now that John, the center point of his new life, stood in the most obviously pathetic part of his old one and was looking at him with what almost seemed like pity. Alex narrowed his eyes in a frown.  
  
_Stop looking at me like that. I don’t need your pity. Please. I know that I am pathetic and that my place is gross and crappy and that I should be glad to get out of here. Stop looking at me like that.  
  
_ He pushed a pair of sweatpants and the twist-off-jar of cash he’d saved since middle school into the backpack angrily _. Please_ , c _alm down, Hamilton. It’s not his fault you live like this. It’s not his fault you hate your past self this much, it’s not his fault you want to leave it behind.  
  
_ “Hey, Alex?”  
  
John frowned and stepped closer, and Alex glanced at him over his shoulder. His kind expression, his soft eyes, his heart of gold, God, Alex _didn’t deserve this boy_.  
  
“What?” He tried not to sound too frustrated, but probably failed miserably. His throat felt tight, and he swallowed. _This is fucking ridiculous. Why can’t I just take things as they come? Am I not supposed to be spontaneous and flexible or something, as a young adult in this oh-so-amazing city? I’m just being immature as fuck about this. Grow up, Hamilton.  
  
But I want this. I really want to be this person he thinks I am. I really, really want to be with him and leave this old stuff all behind.  
  
Let me let this go. My God, please let me let this go.  
  
_ “Alex, I’m being honest. We _really_ don’t have to do this.” John was saying quietly.  
  
Alex rolled his eyes and shook his head quickly, partly to reply to John and partly to clear it of his thoughts. He knelt over next to his mattress, grabbed the thick book next to the pillow and put it on top of the clothes. He pulled the strings shut energetically and slung the backpack over his shoulder, standing.  
  
He stepped closer to John and slowly ran his hand up John’s chest, watching as it moved over the dark grey fabric of his hoodie, watching John’s breath hitch in his throat and found himself smiling faintly. He curled his hand around the back of John’s neck and slid it into the small curls there, scratching at his scalp gently. John let out a shuddering breath and let himself be pulled down towards Alex’ smiling mouth.  
Just before their lips met, Alex stilled to whisper a breathy “But I want to. I want _you_ , and I want to move in with you. I want you.” and John let out a small sigh, sinking further into Alex’ touch.  
  
“I don’t want to pressure you into this. I just feel like you’re having doubts about the moving, and I really, _really_ don’t want to rush things, I want this to work out- “Alex interrupted him by closing the gap and pressing his lips to his.  
  
Their kiss was soft, bittersweet and promising, promising _more_ , not only for later tonight, but also for tomorrow, and next week, and next month, and next year, and the year after the next one. It was a peace offering, an _I’m here if you want me, as long as you want me._ _I promise this will last. We will last.  
  
_ When they parted, they were both panting, and Alex slung his arms around John’s neck, eyeing his slightly flushed face.  
  
“We’ll work it out, okay? We can do this.” He smiled at John faintly and then pulled back abruptly, walking to the kitchen to add a couple of big cups to the clothes and the book, then returned to John who was kneeling in the dust in front of the four cardboard boxes of books that they had come for in the first place.  
  
“One each? We’ll have to walk twice.” He mused. Alex knelt next to him, eyeing the books that he hadn’t touched in months and silently apologizing to them for all the dust and neglect they had endured.  
  
“I think I can do two at once. I honestly just want to get this over with.” He muttered. John shrugged. “Okay. We’ll both definitely die on the way downstairs, but okay.”  
  
Alex chuckled quietly and stood, cracking his knuckles, which made John cringe slightly. Alex scoffed playfully. “You’re _weak_ , John. Also, there’s an elevator.” He added, before grabbing the first cardboard box from the floor.  
  
Somehow, they managed to get downstairs and out of the building into the heavy rain. The wind whipped the water into their faces in gusts as they started running across the wet sidewalk the best they could with two cardboard boxes of extremely heavy classics and historical books each.  
  
Alex watched John run in front of him, swaying on his feet as he tried not to step into a deep, brownish puddle of water on the sidewalk. Rainwater ran into his collar and he remembered something, remembered the first time they met and remembered running through the rain to the flower shop after having talked for an entire afternoon at the Café Adrienne.  
  
He remembered John turning around to him, smiling, and how he’d known from that moment on that he was helpless. He remembered John taking his hand briefly, and he remembered a tingling and a warmth and the wish to never lose this guy.  
  
He smiled to himself, breathing the rain-thick, damp and fresh air of the evening heavily as he chased after John.  
  
_This is the right thing. I’m doing the right thing.  
  
_ John shouted something that he couldn’t quite understand over the noise of rain and rush-hour traffic, and realized that they were by John’s building, when John slowed down and somehow, miraculously managed to get his keys out of his pocket and unlock the front door, herding Alex into the warmth and dryness of the foyer.  
  
They met Laf, who was on his way to get Chinese for dinner, halfway up the stairs, and persuaded him to help by acting like Alex had circulatory disturbances and was about to pass out. The three of them carried the boxes upstairs together, moaning and complaining about the fact that the building’s elevator was still broken. Laf criticized Alex’ literature preferences.  
  
When they arrived at the apartment, John and Alex told Laf what they wanted for dinner and then pushed the boxes to John’s room and, fed up with physical exertion for now, changed and strolled to the living room. They found Herc and Peggy, smoking pot on the carpet while playing Monopoly – Peggy was the racing car – and decided to join.  
  
Alex – being the only sober person – won by bribing Herc, who was in charge of the bank, with promising to make him immune to all the rent he had imposed on his expensive buildings, and then taking over his job as head of the bank system and simply refusing to give money to anyone but himself. The other three were all too stoned to stop his winning spree and so the game was over quicker than everyone had expected.  
  
When Herc suggested playing a second round – “Let’s play another round tonight!” –  John announced that he was going to bed in a stoned-sleepy voice and asked Alex to take him to his room.  
  
Alex obliged, apologizing to the others and half-carrying John down the hallway. He stripped him down to his t-shirt and boxers, decided that John was in no state to actually have Alex brush his teeth and then tucked him in. When he was about to leave, John grabbed his hand tightly and looked up at him with huge eyes and a wide smile.  
  
“Alex. You’re the small turtle and I love you. _I love you_. I’m so glad we got your books. My smol turtle boy. I love you.” He slurred, and Alex grinned, bending down to kiss his forehead chastely.  
  
“I love you, too, my little lion.” He whispered. John smiled even wider. He made a sleepy lion-noise, roaring quietly, and Alex stayed sitting next to him in his dark room, _their_ dark room, holding John’s hand until he fell asleep.  
  
When his breathing was slow and steady, Alex stood from the mattress, careful not to wake him, and padded out of the room, closing the door gently behind himself.  
  
On the way back to the living room, he almost tripped over his books and the large, olive green army backpack.  
  
He found himself smiling once more.  
  
_John. Every hope I ever had in human form. And now I live with him.  
  
_ He gave the closed door behind himself a loving look and strolled sleepily back to the living room, where Peggy, Herc and Laf, who had returned while Alex was taking John to bed, were still waiting for him to argue about who got to be the racing-car during the next Monopoly match.  
  
Alex sat down on the carpet next to Peggy, stole a sip of her beer and smiled at Herc, silently apologizing for his unfair moves in the last match. And when Laf handed him a can of takeout noodles and made a comment about him moving in, something along the lines of _‘well, finally, you’re home, Alexander._ ’, he let out a happy sigh, not even minding that someone chose the boot for him instead of the dog that he’d been during the last match.  
  
_Well, finally, you are home, Alexander.  
  
Home.  
  
I’m home._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow wow what a mess.
> 
> I hope this wasn't as weird to read as it was to write. I sometimes just forget everything about how writing stuff works, so.  
> The botanical garden they go to is not actually describing the one in Brooklyn because I have never been to New York lol but the one in Munich (which is where I live) which I've been visiting throughout my entire life because I'm a plant nerd like Alex and it's really nice and there's tuRTLES (I'm also a turtle nerd like John. Talking about projecting stuff on characters).  
> The book Alex has abandoned a few months ago, 'A little Life' by Hanya Yanagihara - I'm reading it at the moment - is actually amazing, 10/10 would recommend. Go read it, seriously, it's really good.  
> See y'all in two weeks, hugs!


	12. Seaside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month of happiness passes and Alex slowly gets the feeling something has to go wrong. When he, Rachel and John drive out to the seaside for Rachel's birthday, he is proven right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asfdsaghfJHSGDFJASHGD I'M BACK  
> I wrote this in like two days I haven't slept properly in a week and this is messy and I'm sorry it's so lateee I gotta go to bed but I wanted to post this and it's average but I wanted to make my deadline c':  
> Unbetad and a trigger warning for mentioned physical and emotional abuse and internalised homophobia. This is so fucking sad. It only gets sadder from now on.  
> Enjoy lol.

  
**The next morning,** an overcast Monday with yesterday’s wetness still in the air but without rain, Peggy woke Alex and John way too early.   
  
At 6am, the door to their room flung open, and she burst inside, startling them both awake by soundly presenting some song she’d probably come up with herself in the shower.   
  
The lyrics mainly consisted of the phrases ‘ _Rise up!_ ’ _, ‘I flick the light and start my day!’_ and ‘ _I buy my coffee and I go_!’, and even though Peggy had, without any doubt, a really nice voice, she was rewarded with a couple of angry noises, a muffled, but very final ‘ _Out_!’ from Alex and a blue pillow thrown her way by John.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, she tried again, being more gentle this time by simply ripping away their blanket and wrapping it around herself, leaving the door open as she sneaked away with all the warmth of their bed around her shoulders and screaming that the coffee they needed so badly to survive was getting cold.  
  
When she was gone, Alex slung his goosebump-covered limbs around John’s warm body and let out a discontented whine.  
  
“She’s cruel.” John hummed, the words slurring together, his voice rasp. _Did I smoke something yesterday? Oh, right, fuck, I did._ He sighed shortly and pushed Alex’ cool arms away, sat up and looked around himself, slightly disoriented until he recognized his own room, filled with pale, grey morning light and the smell of eggs, bacon and coffee. John felt his mouth water. _Getting up might be worth it after all.  
  
_ He yawned deeply, his mouth wide, felt the warm press of the mattress beneath him and asked himself where that thought had come from. He eyed the room and found himself smiling faintly out of the corner of his eye at Alex’ small, breathing, curled up body beside him after spotting the cardboard boxes by the door.   
  
_He lives here now. My Alex lives with me._   
  
_His_ Alex let out another sleepy sound, opening his eyes with a shiver and scooting closer to John, who mindlessly started running his hand over his exposed back. Alex moved into the touch, almost purring. John smiled adoringly. _He’s seriously like a fucking kitten, it’s so cute. My little Alex.  
  
_ Alex had opened his tired, dark eyes by now, and was unblinking, watching the side of John’s face with wild tufts of dark hair in his eyes. John grinned sweetly and sunk back into the pillows to be at eyelevel with him; They looked at each other for a moment, John brushing hair away from Alex’ forehead, and were quiet until John murmured “Good morning, Baby Girl.” and leaned towards him to kiss the corner of Alex’ mouth softly.   
  
“I have bad breath, John…” Alex muttered with an uncomfortable noise muffled by John’s hair in his face when John pulled him in closer to mouth kisses against his jawline and nip at the tan skin of his bare throat gently before returning to his lips. “I don’t really care. Me too.” He reincorporated and slid his hand up into Alex’ hair. They made out for a while, kissing slowly and lazily, until someone screamed their names from the other end of the apartment, telling them to stop snogging and that they weren’t getting any fried eggs if they didn’t get out of bed right now. They parted, both looking to the door, and Alex yelled something that John didn’t quite catch, busy attempting to even out his breathing.  
  
“They remind me so much of my parents, and of how James used to be… it’s like Herc’s going to tell me to go shave at breakfast and accuse me of being high, and Peggy slash you will shout at me for finishing the milk, and Laf’s gonna drive me to school in some family-friendly SUV and I will walk inside having a teenage anxiety attack and then that anxiety will be proven right when I’ll find something damp and smelly with a note saying ‘faggot’ on it in my spind later. Seriously, having tall friends and a wakeup time feels just like high school. Mom obviously being an exception, my new family is way better than my old one.” Alex grinned faintly and John grumbled in agreement, smiling into the pillow at the thought of his friends being his family, _his found-family, the one I live with because I chose them, because I love them, not because I’ve been born into it_ while Alex stood, walking to his big army backpack to get some clothes.  
  
John watched a little too attentively as he changed his briefs and fought his way into dark skinny jeans and a slightly creasy white t-shirt and chuckled sadly when a thought occurred to him. “You’re not going to be wearing my clothes anymore.” He realized quietly. Alex turned around to him as he was putting his hair up into a bun and frowned.  
  
“Shit. You’re right. But I really like wearing your stuff. It’s so much nicer than mine. Plus, it smells like you.” He grinned widely, and John sat up again, eyeing Alex in clothes that weren’t his for a moment.  
  
“I mean, you smell like me, too, because you’re still using my shower gel as well as my cologne as well as my deodorant- “– Alex blushed slightly at his exposure, he’d probably thought John wouldn’t notice – “-but you can still wear them, you know. I actually like when you do. We’ll be sharing a dresser anyway, at some point we just won’t be able to tell them apart anymore.” He shrugged.   
  
Alex smiled slowly. “Okay.” He said lightly after a moment, and John smiled back at him, standing and walking towards the dresser to dig through it for a red and white striped t-shirt. Alex started looking for socks shyly, and every now and then, they grinned at each other, exchanging silent _you live here now_ ’s and _I know, I’m so glad_ ’s.  
  
They got dressed and strolled down the hallway to join the others in the kitchen, following their friends’ warm, rasp morning voices, and the sizzling oil in the heat of the pan and the quiet whirr of the coffee machine. Peggy was humming a Billy Talent song and Laf and Herc were quietly, sleepily discussing who was to get groceries and toilet paper this week and who had to do laundry and who was on cleaning duty, and if they could maybe make Alex do laundry just to see if he was one of the rare kind of roommates who even did laundry in the first place.  
  
They had accepted Alex moving in without any kind of resistance; even the fact that he wasn’t going to pay any rent because he was still paying for his old apartment, they had waved off, muttering that as long as he volunteered to call the delivery guy every now and then, – Oh, the perks of only being friends with people who liked avoiding human interaction – didn’t sing David Hasselhoff in the shower or anywhere else really, and put a sock on the door when he intended to have sex, they were okay with pretty much everything. Which made John cry a little with gratitude.  
  
Just outside the door, Alex almost tripped over the cardboard boxes with a yelp. They were blocking the bathroom door, and John realized they would have to unpack them later today. _Not now, though._   
  
He glanced at Alex. He liked it; the thought of having time, the thought that they had so much time in their lives, so much time to spend together; so much time that they could spend whole evenings unpacking books from boxes and kissing on the floor between stacks of heavy, dusty classics that somehow had to fit into John’s shelf and discussing whether Captain Flint and Johns Silver were a couple based on only _Treasure Island_ subtext.  
  
All of which, they did. When they came home from work that day – Alex had taken his first customer in the afternoon; he’d aced it, but his hands were still shaking – they moved the boxes into John’s room and started unpacking while Peggy – who, if John thought about it, would very likely soon move in, as well – made pasta for everyone with Herc’s support and Laf danced around the living room to ukulele covers of Frank Sinatra songs.  
  
After Alex moved in, time seemed to pass even quicker. They went to work, visited Rachel at the hospital, went on dates – not very frequent ones because of their stuffed schedules – and spent time with their friends.   
  
April was over as quickly as it had come; one day Alex woke up and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, and none appeared over the day, either, and somehow, he found himself smiling at strangers on the street more often.  
  
May was a calm month with longer, sunnier days, and it was only when their three-week anniversary was already over that Alex realized he’d been with John for almost a month now and things were still as amazing as the first day. He loved John more than ever, more than he’d ever thought it possible after everything that had happened. The adoration he felt for this boy simply didn’t seem to end anywhere, and that amazed Alex every day.  
  
Peggy’s, Eliza’s and Angelica’s father, who was running for senate the next election, was hosting a gala in mid-May – when Alex asked Peggy what fucking kind of person could afford shit like that, she simply shrugged and grinned cockily and said ‘Take Philip Schuyler, the man is loaded’.   
  
She then came up with the idea to invite the four of them – John, Alex, Laf and Herc – over for dinner so they could get to know this mysterious, rich person her father was. Mr. Schuyler – a very tall, continuously smiling man who gave firm handshakes and complimented Laf’s hair and Herc’s design of his daughters’ dress (Herc blushed at that. He fucking blushed. Alex had never seen something so adorable) and talked about women’s rights, gentrification and golf a lot – promptly invited the four of them to his gala, and told Peggy that she couldn’t stop him, that he was ‘inviting these young gentlemen, no matter what you say, Margarita’. Three days later, there was an invite on expensive paper sent to their place, and when Laf showed it to Peggy, she threw her arms in the air and told them to better find some nice tuxedos until the 14 th.   
  
They spent a whole month’s rent on borrowing four suits, but just getting to see John, his shirt half open, tan chest exposed and a black bowtie dangling off his neck (“Does anybody know how to do a fucking bowtie? John?” “I do. Let me do it for you.” “Pff. Hypocrite rich kid.”) chase through the flat looking for a not empty bottle of deodorant was worth it to Alex. The gala itself was a very official, very champagne-heavy event in the Schuyler sisters’ childhood home – Peggy announced it like that, but in fact, it was a fucking mansion (they owned a park with a lake in it, a _fucking park_ , which you could drive through on _fucking Segway personal transporters_ ) – with lots of important people attending that Peggy knew lots of incredibly amusing anecdotes about (“You see that woman over there with the sick blonde hair? She was here for Dad’s Thanksgiving tea party once, and before tea, she left her chewing gum on the side of the bathroom sink. It was _disgusting_ , I’m telling you.” “The man with the brown suit? He’s something hella important, comes up from DC every now and then, and once on an independence day dinner, he went upstairs searching for the bathroom and ended up in Angelica’s room, reading the smutty mangas she used to read when she was 14. Oh, don’t tell her I told you that.”).  
  
Mid-evening, Alex and John had had enough awkward conversations with semi-important white politicians and, quietly giggling as if they were doing something incredibly forbidden, fled the house in favor for the park, where they chased each other around well-trimmed hedges and sat beneath tall trees on very British lawns, stargazing with their shoulders leaned against each other.   
  
Alex realized that he’d almost forgotten how many stars you could see from Upstate. In the city, there were planes and helicopters and the light of the street, the houses, the skyscrapers and the airports painting the sky a slightly dusty purple at night, but here, in Albany, New York City was just a bright spot at the horizon while the sky was alight with thousands, millions of stars; not as much as in the Caribbean, though _. And not nearly as many as on John’s skin._   
  
Alex searched for John’s hand next to him, found it and lifted it to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly. He saw John smiling widely from the corner of his eye, his eyes flicking away from the night sky and towards Alex for just a moment to give him a loving, big-eyed glance for a second so full of weight that it made Alex giddy with happiness.   
  
With small lights reflecting in his shiny eyes – bright spots caused by lampions down by the terrace and the wide-open, brightly lit screen door that led from the living room to the veranda into the garden – John was looking at him as though the beauty of the starry sky was something Alex had made, like John was convinced that Alex had taken his time, climbed a ladder and put all the stars, the sun and the moon up there; and honestly, when John looked at him like this, Alex had the feeling that was actually something he could do. He dropped his arm but didn’t let go of John’s warm hand, cradling their intertwined fingers in his lap and smiling at the darkness.  
  
It was so quiet in the night garden; not a perfect silence, but enough for Alex to feel sleepy and content. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed seeing so many little lights when he looked up until he sat there in the Schuylers’ huge garden, far away from the music and conversation and laughter of the party and even further away from the noise and brightness of the city, holding John’s familiar hand in the dark, watching the sky with him.  
  
At some point – it seemed like hours had passed – Peggy and Eliza came walking up the hill hand in hand, looking for them. Peggy’s expression was concerned and the hem of Eliza’s long, baby blue, flowing chiffon dress – also designed by Herc – was wet from the dew on the grass. They took the two of them back to the house, scolding them and making sure they understood how worried everyone had been and then stayed with them the whole rest of the evening to make sure they didn’t disappear again.   
  
Which they didn’t; in fact, they didn’t leave the small couch by the TV because they were both tired and groggy from the champagne and their little stealing-away-adventure until Angelica called the shuttle for all of them – as in, all of them, John, Alex, Herc, Laf, the Schuyler sisters, Maria, Jefferson and Madison, who, of course, had been invited by Angelica, squeezed into a long black limousine – a _limousine_. Alex was in awe but soon distracted when John started gently running his hand over his upper thigh and crotch in the dark of the car, innocently not looking at him as he watched their friends who were emptying the mini bar and discussing going somewhere else since they were all here and so prettily dressed up – to get back to the city.   
  
Alex and John declined the offer to join the others on their club trip and enjoyed having the apartment to themselves for a while, all of which had been John’s decision, partly because Alex was about to start a fight with Jefferson concerning whether it was a decent thing to go to Mc Donald’s at 2am wearing a tuxedo.   
  
In John’s opinion, it was an _absolutely_ decent thing to do, and he was going to point out that he could definitely go for some fries right now, but didn’t want to complain when Alex ripped off his bowtie that he’d already started loosening in the car and started sucking at his throat in the middle of the sidewalk the second the limo drove off – needless to say, their night turned out to be probably more delightful than the one their friends spent clubbing.  
  
  
**On another Sunday morning in late May,** Alex woke John at half to 6am, when the sun was just creeping up the horizon.   
  
His eyes above John were glowing when John blinked sleepily, and a wide grin was plastered to his face, and when John was about to hiss at him that this was the only day he got to sleep in, or kiss him so he would stop shouting his name excitedly, Alex cut him off before he could do anything.  
  
“John, lion, I almost forgot, but now I remembered, and now I really, _really_ need you to get up _really_ quickly and shower with me and then put some decent clothes on and have your breakfast to-go and come to the flower shop with me because there is something _incredibly_ important that you and I have to do, and it can’t wait, so you have to get up _now_! Like, _really_ quickly, because we have to be at the hospital before seven so they won’t know it was us, come one!”   
  
He tugged at one of John’s curls to get him to wake up, and John lazily blinked and yawned, pushing himself up on his elbows slowly, laboriously taking a look at the continuously unused but very aesthetically pleasing old alarm clock in the shelf. _Twenty fucking minutes past fucking 5am. With all due respect, Hamilton, what the fuck?  
  
_ John waited for the flat to make a sound, but was met with silence; the others seemed to still be asleep. _It’s that fucking early, huh._ He ran a hand over his unwashed, stubbly face. Alex had once pointed out that he was jealous about how quickly John grew facial hair, a feeling John, who had to shave almost every day, really couldn’t relate to; he spent more time in the morning cursing about how often he accidentally cut himself on his jaw, than with the shaving itself. _  
  
_ “Listen, Baby Girl… I don’t know what shitty excuse justifies you waking me at a time like this, what the fuck, but… but…” He yawned again, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. “But I’m kind of… very, very tired so there’s no way I’m getting up if there isn’t either somebody dying or Jefferson has finally stopped playing with Madison’s feelings, so. What’s so fucking urgent?” he sprawled, and Alex rolled his eyes, tugging at the blanket a little impatiently.  
  
“I’m gonna tell you when you get up. Would a shower blowjob motivate you to leave this goddamn bed?” John blinked, suddenly very awake and growing conscious of how Alex was basically sitting on him with his legs on either side of his hips. _Um. What. Yes.  
  
“_ Uh _…_ y-you’re a hoe, you know that, right? Forcing me out of bed like that is just… low. How am I supposed to say no to that?” He chuckled nervously and sat up a little straighter. Alex gave a knowing smirk and pulled away, climbing off John’s lap and looking incredibly pleased with himself.  
  
“There’s not need to say no, sweetie. There’s no shame in giving yourself over to pleasure.” He purred, holding out a hand to John, who blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly as he weakly grabbed Alex’ hand.  
  
“Did you just reference the Rocky Horror Picture show?” he muttered and let himself be pulled to his feet. Alex rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh and gave his arm a tug, hurrying out of the room; John stumbled after him.  
  
  
**Twenty minutes later** they were sprinting down the sidewalk, Alex a few feet in front of John, who was alternating between hurriedly chewing on a bagel with cream cheese and taking gulps of coffee _– why is this coffee black, by the way?_ John blamed Alex – that burned his tongue and throat every time he swallowed. Damp curs were tumbling into John’s face with every step he took, reminding him every now and then of their shared cold shower.   
  
The air was cool from the night and the street wasn’t very busy yet since it was Sunday and Brooklyn was still waking up. There were stray cyclists and unoccupied taxis, some night owls stumbling home in noisy groups of four or five, and some coffee shops and bakeries were already opening for people like them who for some reason were insane enough to get up at a time like this.  
  
John picked up pace and caught up with Alex when he’d finished practically inhaling his coffee and could keep his eyes open properly. He took the last bite of his bagel and tossed the napkin into a bin when they passed. “So” he began “Where are we going and what are we doing?” Alex grinned at him from the corner of his eye. “Do you know what day this is?” he asked, slowing his pace and getting his keys out of his pocket as they neared the flower shop.  
  
“Um. No? Is it our one-month anniversary or something? Because if so, I’m sorry I didn’t get out of bed to return that favor of breakfast in bed.” John frowned, standing next to his boyfriend and watching him fiddle with his keys in front of the chipped green iron gate that led to the courtyard behind the old five-story brick building with tiny windows that the flower shop occupied the ground floor of – as far as John knew, the rest was occupied with apartments, and either nobody lived in them, or the people who did never stepped past their threshold, at least he’d never seen anyone other than his friends unlock the gate to the courtyard.  
  
“Well, as a matter of fact, it is our one month-anniversary, so congrats, and still I love you, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Because today, lion, on May 31st 2017 is my Mom’s 45th birthday, and she told me a couple of weeks back to kidnap her from the hospital because she is growing seriously sick – pun not intended – of that place. So, while you were still asleep, I packed some food and a blanket and tons of SPF 60 sunscreen because her skin is possibly allergic to sunlight by now, and now we’re taking her to the beach so she can see the sea. She seriously loves the sea, I bet she misses it. After all, it’s been a while.” He smiled with a sad shrug and started unlocking the gate.  
  
“Okay, that’s a really cute idea, but… why are you taking me?” John asked quietly after a while, burying his hands in his pockets. Alex turned around halfway and cocked an eyebrow at him incredulously. “Are you being serious? I’m taking you because that’s what you do on birthdays. You surround the birthday person with people they like. You do nice things and bring bouquets. Oh, talking about bouquets, could you get some sunflowers from inside?” Alex smiled at him once more.  
  
“So you think that your Mom likes me?” John grinned at the thought of someone’s mother liking him. He imagined Alex’ father calling him ‘ _son’_ and teaching him how to change a tire, thought of Christmases and Thanksgivings and asked himself if Alex’ brother James would like him, until he realized that James lived in Scotland and Alex’ father was most likely a dickhead, and Rachel lived here anyway and had Leukemia. _Well. No luck with families whatsoever.  
_  
At his question, Alex just scoffed and muttered a “Duh, yes, why wouldn’t she?.” Before pushing open the gate.   
  
John followed Alex into the cool yard quietly, a small square place between tall houses, filled with a couple of bikes, the smell of canalization and the gigantic, overflowing bins, a scruffy, grey cat sleeping on the steps of the next house and the flower shop’s van. Whenever Eliza and Herc took John with them to make flower deliveries to weddings or such, he was the one in the passenger seat; he’d never seen a good reason to get a driver’s license, since he’d moved to New York right after his high-school graduation, and there were plenty of ways to get around in New York, and attempting to drive a car here was never a good idea, which was why he got a little concerned when Alex walked towards the van and opened the door on the driver’s side.  
  
“Uh… what do you think you’re doing? Do you even have a license?” John asked doubtfully, watching with his arms crossed as Alex got in and tossed his backpack down in front of the passenger seat.  
  
Alex gave a scoff and got out the car key. “Yes, I do have a license, dipshit. Are you getting in, or what?” he grumbled, and John shrugged, grinned and jumped into the car. He muttered something along the lines of “You better not drive us into a tree or something” and pulled the door shut just in time before Alex turned the ignition on.  
  
Despite Alex’ poor driving skills and close to dangerous style, they managed to get out of the courtyard, stop in front of the flower shop long enough for John to sprint inside and get some sunflowers, and then to the hospital without crashing into things; Alex parked the van in the lot and they sneaked through the pretty much empty and quiet foyer of the hospital, flinching every time one of them made a sound in that we’re-in-a-quiet-space-how-dare-you-to-step-too-hard on the way to the elevator.  
  
Somehow, they managed to get to the fifth floor without someone asking them what they were doing here outside of the visiting hours. Alex believed to see Burr cross the hallway at some point and pulled John behind a container of clean bedsheets with a loud shriek, which left John even more under the impression that what they were doing was illegal – which it wasn’t, in fact, he just liked stressing about stuff. They remained behind the container until Alex realized Burr’s shift started at eight, not at five, and they continued making their way to room nine.  
  
They shooed inside and woke Rachel with a quiet, gentle and a little out-of-tune duet of “Happy Birthday”, a hug from John and a kiss to the cheek from Alex, which all resulted in her cooing and crying a little with a fond, sleepy smile. John put the bouquet into the vase on the bedside table while Alex helped Rachel change into a little oversized daisy-patterned summer dress, a cardigan and sandals that John was pretty sure Alex had stolen from Peggy.  
  
  
**They left as quietly as they had come** , Rachel in tow. The three of them chased through the parking lot to the white flower shop van like little kids, John and Rachel squealing high-pitched together while Alex unlocked the car doors. They climbed inside, Rachel and John squeezing into the passenger seat, and when he turned the ignition on and steered out of the parking lot with the windows down and a shallow, cool morning breeze caught inside the car, Alex found himself caught off-guard when he glanced at Rachel.  
  
There was a childish, soft glow in her dark eyes and a dreamy smile on her chapped lips. She looked so lively that he wanted to cry; like a flower unfolding, or a golden sun rising, and for a moment, just like when he’d brought her flowers for the first time, she was glowing, and he was eleven again.   
  
_I just love seeing her smile. God, she’s the fucking sun when she’s happy.  
_  
While she made up incredibly long, unrhyming birthday songs with John, Alex drove them out to Rockaway Beach, making the longest detours he could to give Rachel a little more time to make delighted comments about the way John’s ponytail became alive in the wind when he stretched his head out of the car window, and the sun a little more time to rise and warm his face.   
  
When they arrived 40 minutes later and Alex stopped the car in a windy and stuffed parking lot, John immediately jumped out of the van and ran ahead, leaving Alex and Rachel by the car as he crossed a street and the boardwalk and laborious worked his way through other stray visitors, his feet heavy in the sand as he made his way towards the sunrise and the grey-greenish waves in the distance.   
  
Alex helped Rachel out of her seat and the van and watched from the corner of his eye as she stood in the wind, her cardigan wrapped tightly around her skinny, fragile torso and squinting against the bright sun with a wide smile. He grabbed the blanket he’d brought, his and John’s backpack and then walked up to stand beside her, smiling down at her when she looked at him.  
  
“Shall we go?” he asked, and she nodded, tucking the blanket he held out to her beneath her left arm and the arm he offered beneath her right. They started strolling after John, who had taken off his sneakers and reached the waterline by now and was just a small shape in the blue beyond, stumbling to a halt when water started pooling at his feet. Alex smiled to himself and picked up pace when they had crossed the street, pacing across the boardwalk, pulled in by that weird magnetic gravity the sea had always had for him.   
  
Maybe it was because even though this windy, bright-but-far-away-sunny, salty and rough sea was so different from the Caribbean with its soft puddles and torquise waters and exotic plants and palm trees and tourists on the beaches, but still so much the same; it reminded him of his childhood. Walking down a beach and seeing the sea, with his mother by his side, the sun in his face and the wind messing up his hair.  
  
John was still by the waterline, his curls dancing wildly in the wind as he was tossing shells at the sea and watching the shallows swilling them back to his feet. Alex was about to shout his name to get him to come back so they could pick a spot when he noticed that Rachel had let go of his arm and stopped walking. He turned around.  
  
She was a few feet behind him, at the bottom of the wide wooden stairs that led up to the boardwalk, standing with Peggy’s sandals tightly grasped in her pale hands, her dress fluttering in the breeze, and staring at her feet. Her bare toes were buried in the white, fine sand. Alex stepped closer with a frown, bending towards her and startling when he saw tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.  
  
“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked alertly, lifting his voice over the wind, and reaching out to try and loosen her grip on the sandals. She pulled her hand away and wiped her cheek with her wrist.  
  
“Mom?” he repeated, louder when she didn’t answer. Her mouth had fallen open, and her chin was quivering as if she was trying to find words but was unable to. Alex pushed hair away from his forehead and looked at her with big eyes.  
  
“I… I just… I just remembered something.” She gasped wetly.   
  
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” He murmured lamely, and put his hands on her shoulders gently, urging her to look at him. When she did, she was smiling in a way he hadn’t seen her smile in ages, her cheeks moist and gleaming with tears. “I know it’s okay. I just- I remembered what sand feels like. And wind. What salt smells like, and fish, and air. I just remembered how _real_ the world is. Shit.” She sobbed dryly, her breath catching in her throat and wiped at her eyes again. Her lower lip was shaking, but she was still smiling, wider now. He let out a chuckle and pulled back, slowly letting go of her shoulders.  
  
“It’s very real. Come on. Can you walk?” She lifted an eyebrow at him and grabbed his arm again. “Of course, I can walk, Alex. I’m not dead, I just have terminal state leukemia.” She muttered, drying her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan and watching her feet stomp through the sand heavily as if they were the most amazing thing she’d ever seen when they started walking again. He chose to ignore her comment, not think about the way she said ‘terminal stage’ and instead called John’s name.  
  
He had to shout three times until John finally left the shore and came stalking back towards them with a happy grin and sand sticking to his wet feet. They picked a spot about twenty yards from the water, sat down after laboriously unfolding the blanket and shared the chunks of watermelon and peach Alex had packed.   
  
**  
The sun was rising and the beach was filling quickly** , and soon they were taking their jackets off and Rachel was putting sunscreen on. Even though there were plenty of loud families and handholding couples now, they had a nice amount of beach to themselves. When the box of fruits was empty, Alex got out his notebook and John started drawing, and Rachel just sat, her knees against the chest, watching the waves and breathing the damp, salty air.  
  
Rachel hadn’t realized until now how much she’d missed this; the sun and the salt and the wind on her pale, puffy skin, the scratch of sand against her toes. It was surreal how wonderful these simple things felt; she was so deprived of this, thirsty for more. She wanted to feel everything and know everything, as if she’d just been born or released from prison. She was forty-five, and felt like she hadn’t quite lived yet.  
  
Rachel had made peace with the fact that she had been nearing some kind of finish line for quite a while now, but that was when she had been spending every second of her life in a hospital bed. Now that she was reminded of what she was missing out on, she wasn’t so sure if she was okay with the thought of heading towards that line anymore.  
  
Was it _really_ fair that she was to soon leave this world even though there was so much, _so, so much_ she hadn’t seen and done yet? She had never jumped off a cliff, seen a volcano eruption or a horse jumping show; she had not read “The Cloud Atlas” or met a celebrity or been to India, and in all her life, she had only loved one person.  
  
Was her life really a complete life, a life she could look back on happily if she left it behind? Was it a life her mother would be proud of? Was it a life James would be proud of?  
  
The thought of him made her flinch mentally.   
  
She slung her thin arms tighter around her knees and ran a hand through the sand next to the blanket, picking up half a handful and letting it trickle back to the ground through her fingers, her eyes fixed on the soft motion of her wrist when she tilted her hand.  
  
Was it strange that after all this time, her heart still clenched into a fist inside her chest when she thought of him and his soft smile and his deep, charming voice? It probably was. Other people didn’t think of their significant others who had left them nine years ago, but then again, other people had probably gotten a new lover and not spent those nine years in medical care.  
  
The truth was, she still missed him. Every day, every time someone opened the door to her room, she prayed it would be him, turning up out of nowhere in tears and apologizing a million times and telling her that he should never have left and that she was the only woman he’d ever loved. She would yell at him just because she could and had the right to do so after all this time he’d left her alone with their boys and her cancer, but in the end, she would hug him and apologize and cry, too, for always having pretended to know everything better, and George would cure her cancer and she would move into a small townhouse with James and continue as if nothing had happened. They could buy books and pretentiously expensive wine, watch football with their friends and invite Alex and John and Jemmy and his wife Pauline for Thanksgiving and all would be well.  
  
But he never came. It was always Burr, or Dr. Washington, or the cleaning lady, or Alex, but never James. There was no way he knew she was sick, anyway; he had left years before she had gotten cancer for the first time. But still.  
  
Alex and John were speaking quietly behind her, and she could hear John giggle quietly at something Alex had said. When she glanced at them over her shoulder, John was wearing Alex’ glasses, blinking over and over again and pulling a face, telling Alex he was as blind as a mole, at which Alex threw his head back and snorted a “That’s true!”. John made a remark about how Alex kept saying he was pretty, and asked how he could even tell that he was if he was this blind and was rewarded with a smack to the shoulder and a kiss. She turned back to the sea discretely with a fond smile when John buried his hand in Alex’ hair, pulling him closer.  
  
Seagulls cried above her head, their barks opening in harsh calls as they ducked their heads, and she looked up, blinking against the sunlight.  
  
_Just come back.  
  
Just come back, James. You’ve been gone long enough. I will stop talking about other people like I know everything better, I will stop telling you to become a vegetarian, I will stop humming that song you hate, I will travel with you, I will wash your clothes. Just come back._  
  
After a while of sitting and trying not to think about anything, Rachel stood shakily, shook sand out of her dress and left her sandals, John and Alex, who were working on their respective projects – John drawing someone that looked impressively like Alex, and Alex typing away on his laptop on the blanket. When she stood, Alex looked up. John let out a discontented hiss, muttering something about how bad he was at modeling, but Alex paid him no mind.  
  
“Where are you going?” he asked her, and she just shrugged. “To look at the waves.” She replied and started stalking towards the water.   
  
“Do you want me to come with you?” he called after her, the worry in his voice apparent. She turned over her shoulder, smiled, waved and shook her head before continuing heading towards the swells.   
  
_Why does he always worry so much? Shouldn’t I be the one worrying about him?_  
  
Rachel stopped walking when she reached the waterline. She tugged her twirling dress down and stood, watched the soft, cool water pool around her ankles. She’d always been fascinated by the fact that every wave that touched the shore was, in fact, a new one; the water and the sand fell in love all over again with every new wave, and in that brief moment, that wave was the best one that could possibly exist and the last one was completely forgotten. It cycled over and over, like a ballet dancer twirling around in pirouettes, the tides, or the sun rising. Rachel took a deep breath of damp, salty air and uncurled her fists from the hem of her cardigan.   
  
_What if I’m just another wave that comes and goes without anyone caring?  
  
Or worse, what if I go and Alex cares way too much? He already cares so much now, and he won’t have me anymore to tell him to not worry and go on with his life. Who will tell him I’m always right here when I’m gone?_   
  
She stood in the shallows, her dress that she hadn’t worn in at least three years folding around her wan, skinny legs in the wind and looked ahead, to the line where the sky met the sea.  
  
  
**They got fries, a bottle of water and a salad for Rachel** from a snack bar by the boardwalk for lunch and ate on the blanket, talking about the weather and name origins (Alex was named after a 3 rd cousin twice removed and John was initially named John Jack Laurens which was changed by his father when he moved in with him; from that point on, he was called Jack Laurens, and then he himself changed it back to John Laurens when he left high school) and trying to protect their food from the sand and the gulls. Alex stole all of John’s mayo, which was okay since John stole all of his ketchup and half of Rachel’s salad, and after lunch, Rachel suggested to walk by the water, assuring them that it was really nice.  
  
Alex declined the offer, saying that he wanted to get some writing done, and Rachel and John left together, following the shallow footprints Rachel had left in the sand earlier. Alex stayed on the blanket, his notebook open and in his lap, the cursor on the screen flashing, asking him to type out a letter from a founding father to his best friend, who was about to die in a battle in South Carolina.  
  
Waves were crashing on the shore as well as in his ears, and Alex attempted to stare the cursor down so it would stop flashing; as always, it didn’t work. He let out a sharp sigh and threw his notebook shut, leaning back and looking to the water with a frown.  
It wasn’t like he didn’t want to write; he wouldn’t call it a writer’s block, either. It was more of a reluctancy towards the events that were about to happen in the story. He didn’t want one of his revolutionaries to die, and it was hindering his progress.  
  
Alex’ eyes, found Rachel and John wandering the waterline and stuck to them. They were strolling across the wet sand by the sea, talking, barefoot, not bothering to run away from the water when it brought its swells near them. Rachel was laughing about something John had said, her head thrown back, the sound of her voice carried to him by the wind. He smiled sadly; she didn’t laugh often, and somehow, whenever she did, he was reminded of that fact.  
  
Alex shouted their names, and John turned around, waving at him, cupping his hands and shouting something back that Alex recognized as an “I love you!”. He waved back at him and John turned his back towards Alex, facing Rachel again, and Alex noticed that something was different.  
Had the light changed, or the wind?  
  
He looked up and was met with a slightly overcast sky full of clouds and seabirds, the sunlight dimmed by grey mist. Alex pushed his heavy hair away from his face, licked his dry lips and tasted salt, looked back at John and Rachel walking. Her dress looked like a fluttering bouquet, daisies on gray, and his hair curled wildly in the breeze, blown away from his forehead by the salty wind. The green-blueish water played around their feet, John’s teeth were bright in the sunlight as he grinned and Alex got the feeling that they somehow looked too perfect.  
  
The colors were too bright, and the sea was too calm for all this wind. Something wasn’t quite right.  
  
The waves rolled in, and the wind ripped at his t-shirt and roared in his ears, and something about the way John and Rachel looked together, far away, dark spots in an endless sea of brightness, upset him. Alex just wished they would come back, or one of them would bend over to grab a shell and toss it at the sea just to make the picture a little less perfect.  
  
He felt an itch beneath his skin and pulled his knees up to his chest, leaning his chin on them. Fixing his eyes on John and mentally begging him to turn around.  
  
_Turn around, John. Look at me. Let me see you._  
  
John didn’t. How could he? It wasn’t like he could read Alex’ mind or something. Alex shifted uncomfortably, the urge to jump up and run towards them to get them back to the blanket where it was safe or to at least be with them where he could make sure they were okay pulling at his insides. He blinked slowly to clear his head.  
  
Something had to go wrong at some point. Statistically, compared to the rest of his life, things with John, Rachel’s treatment, everything had been going way too well. Alex wasn’t used to things going well and it scared him; he wasn’t used to happiness lasting. Nothing good had ever lasted long in his life. He was used to good things ending, mostly in bad ways, tears and goodbyes; never looking this beautiful, feeling this right.  
  
Alex watched the perfect picture of the two people he loved most in the world walking by the sea and wanted to stay in this moment so badly, the thought of the hurricane that would inevitably follow this happiness making his stomach turn.  
  
John would be less present, less in love with him at some point, and Rachel would only grow sicker, and one day, he would wake up, and John as well as Rachel just wouldn’t be there anymore, and then everything would crash and crumble and he would be left alone, again. Bad things were especially bad if they followed the good things.  
  
And good things didn’t last. They never did, even if you wanted them to so badly your heart ached.  
  
Alex ripped his gaze away from his boyfriend and his mother and held back a dry sob as he dropped his forehead to his knees. There was something wet on his cheeks, but he told himself it was just salt water, carried to him by the wind like far-away laughter.  
  
  
**"So, you draw?"  
  
** John looked up from his feet in the sand at Rachel's curious smile with a slightly startled expression, hair blowing into his face.  
  
They had left Alex and his work far behind them on the blanket that was now a dark spot on the sand to walk by the water, had talked about the weather and how sad they both were about the fact that Alex was killing off one of the main characters of his story, and while talking to Rachel was just as nice as always, John had found himself being cautious the whole time.  
  
He'd never actually talked to her before without Alex around, and while she didn't make talking to her difficult or awkward in any way, John still felt a little out of place, having to remind himself every now and then that the person he was talking to was not Alex but his mother. They were so similar that John caught himself before calling her his name a couple of times, blushing hard.  
  
He found himself caught off guard when she asked about his drawing, wondering if Alex had talked to her about this or if she had guessed. He frowned, smiling shyly. "I- I do, in fact. How did you know? Did I leave a pen in my bun again? That happens to me all the time. Alex regularly has to pull them out before I take a shower, it's ridiculous." he chuckled, reaching into his hair and feeling around for a pencil while Rachel laughed. She had a nice laugh, sounding sincere, warm and hearty, and it made John want to laugh along, so he did. Rachel placed a cool hand on his forearm briefly and grinned at him.  
  
"Chill, no pencils. I just saw you drawing him earlier." She pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the blanket and Alex vaguely and swayed away from him, walking a little further into the water and lifting her eyebrows at him appreciatively. "Is it what you do? Are you an artist? That's really cool."  
  
John buried his hands in his pockets and felt himself getting flustered. _Jesus. You can't even remain calm with only her around. You're such a train wreck, John.  
  
_ "You think so? Huh. You're the first to say it's _'cool',_ actually. I mean, I've been told it's artsy or interesting or dumb or _gay_ before, but cool, that one's new. People don't usually appreciate almost-twenty-year-olds spending their time drawing, unless it's like, insanely good." He smiled back at her shyly, kicking the water a little. Rachel frowned.  
  
"I only saw that one of Alex, maybe all your other drawings are shit, but I mean, it looked pretty fucking gorgeous to me. Really realistic, if a little overly romanticizing. You forgot the little pouch beneath his chin. But hey, artistic freedom. Also, who doesn't appreciate young people interested in art? That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard." She chuckled, shaking her head to herself. John watched his feet, sand swirling up and painting the water a muddy color with every step he took.  
  
"Well, I know my father wouldn't appreciate it. And if the people at NYAA appreciate it, I don't know yet." he muttered, the first half of the sentence more unclear than the second one. He felt a familiar pull in his stomach, one telling him that this conversation was getting dangerously close to bothering Rachel with his ridiculous childhood trauma, that it was about to take a turn John wasn't sure he wanted to take. He told himself to breathe deeply when Rachel gasped next to him.  
  
"Oh, Alex told me about that! You applied to NYAA, didn't you? Did you get a letter yet?" She watched him shake his head with a resigned expression. "Not yet, no. I'm not sure I'll get one at all." he said, shrugged halfheartedly. Rachel tilted her head, nudged his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow.  
  
"Don't tell me you, of all people, are insecure about your art. Come on, that's ridiculous, John. If the drawings you put into your portfolio are even half as good as the one you made of Alex earlier, they'll want to have you with a full scholarship and the constellations of your freckles printed on to the front of their building." She nudged his shoulder again when he snorted, laughter bubbling out of him. She joined, and for a brief moment, John wondered if maybe his laugh was as intoxicating and captivating as hers, or why she was laughing along if it wasn't.  
  
"I mean it! Get it into your head, John Laurens. You're an amazing boy, and I'm glad to have you as my son in law. Could have gone so much worse." She grinned cheekily while he found himself cooing at the sound of _'son in law'_.  
  
_You may not believe it, but I wish you actually were my mother_ , he wanted to say. _I wish I'd grown up surrounded by people like you and Alex in the first place, it would have saved me a lot of pain and probably even the fact that I still won't believe it when even you tell me I'm a great guy. I wish I'd grown up around people as kind and understanding as you._  
  
He watched Rachel laugh about his cooing and kick water at him and thought _the world is so unfair; why do people like Donald Trump get to be president and people like my father get away with everything they have done unpunished while she gets cancer and probably dies before she actually gets to see me become her son in law?  
  
_ He turned around when Rachel did, towards the sound of Alex shouting their names. John squinted at the silhouette of his boyfriend in the distance; he looked kind of worried as if he had been thinking about something way too much again, tiny on the tiny blanket. John lifted his hand and waved at him swiftly, cupped his mouth and shouted a bright “Hey, Alex, I love you!” back at him, before turning back towards Rachel when she said his name.  
  
"John, why would your father not support you drawing?" she was saying quietly, her eyes fixed on the puddles to their feet, and John felt his smile screwing up, something slowly growing incredibly cold inside him.  
  
_Jack, Mr. Ranger told me you draw all over your English exercises now, is that true? He said you draw one of your classmates, that British boy. George whatshisname. I told you I don't want you being around him anymore, if you can remember. What's up with you, do you want people to think you're a faggot? Honestly, Jack, I can't have people thinking my son sucks cock. Hey, do you understand me, Jack? The world gives faggots what they deserve, and I don't want that kind of rumors to exist about you, do you? Do you?  
  
_ “John, why would your father not support you drawing? Am- am I being nosy? You don’t have to answer.” Rachel’s voice sounded like she was far away, and the something inside John’s chest was turning to ice. His head was spinning.  
  
_Stop crying, Jack, man up, boys don't cry. Aren't you a boy? Aren't you a boy, Jack? What boy would cry when his father talks to him? What boy would cry like some pussy at a little bit of pain?  
  
Do you seriously think I'm dumb enough to not see what you're doing? Beneath my roof? I can see the way you look at that ugly kid and it's wrong, Jack. You're a disgrace, you bring shame on our entire family. I have worked too hard and too long in order to get us to where we are now, so that your siblings and you could grow up safely and wealthily, and I will not let that be destroyed by you trying to rebel against me, Jack.  
  
You will never, ever see him again, and you will stop that drawing shit, Jesus, isn't that where it all started? Be a man, start a sport, get a girl or something. Drawing isn't for boys like you. There's potential within you, Jack, don't waste it by making bad decisions.  
  
_ "John? Are you alright?"  
  
Rachel's soft voice cut through his thoughts, and he snapped his eyes up at her, at her apprehensive look, the worry between her eyebrows, the motherly softness in her eyes. He chuckled anxiously.  
  
"Why- why would you ask that? He's just... my father doesn't want me doing that stuff. I think he wants me to become a lawyer or a politician or something, or a doctor, something with a high income that he can brag about at dinner parties. I don't know what his deal is, but that's what he's always been about, maintaining some kind of facade. He doesn't know I'm not at law or med school. He also doesn't know about NYAA, or me dating Alex, or me having become a professional florist, and all that's probably for the better, because this way, he sends me money every Christmas and doesn't have my credit card blocked because as long as he thinks I'm just taking a gap year he probably doesn't pray to God I die of AIDS every night." John let out another one of those pathetic, breathy chuckles, inhaling shakily and running a hand through his hair. He was still feeling very cold, and he was shaking all over, crossing his arms to cover his chest in a sudden rush of self-consciousness, feeling watched and naked with Rachel’s calm gaze resting on him, and the ocean at her back, and he got the sudden idea that his father could watch him through the sky. He looked around himself anxiously.   
  
Rachel was looking at him with wide eyes now, startled quiet. “Have you ever talked to anyone about… _him_ properly?” she whispered calmly, and he shook his head without a thought, laughing incredulously.   
  
“No! My god, no! Maybe Laf knows a little bit about it, and Alex sometimes forces details out of me when he’s bored, but never really, no, I don’t really dig that stuff up. It’s like a chest inside my chest, and it remains closed because otherwise- otherwise… I will _collapse_. Everything will collapse. Everything will…” he trailed off, struggling for breath, and when she lifted her hand to touch his shoulder in comfort, he had to resist the urge to flinch away out of habit. Adults raising their hands towards him had never been a good sign.  
   
Rachel’s hand rested on his upper arm gingerly and John stiffened uncomfortably at the warm touch, smooth skin against his, and only slowly relaxed into it when she started running her hand up over his shoulder and slowly melting the cold with her soft, forgiving smile.  
  
“Breathe. Just breathe, John. Tell me about it if you want to, when you’re ready.” She said after a while, hooking her arm around his and pulling him along when she started walking again, down the waterline.  
  
They remained silent for a long time, John’s thoughts chasing each other across his head and the sky as he was struggling with whether he should tell Rachel about it or not.  
  
In all seriousness; what good could talking about it do? It wasn’t like he remembered dates and wounds and the number of stitches he had to do late at night in the bathroom when he was sixteen. It wasn’t like he remembered particularly bad nights or particularly tearful nights.   
  
The wounds had turned into faint scars and the bruises had gone from red to purple to blue to green to yellow to disappearance, but the thing that had stuck were the things his father had said. The words had stuck.   
  
They would stick forever, they had become a part of his everyday life, they were the doubt that his father had planted, and John was fine with that, as long as he didn’t get anywhere near the chest, it was all good. He just had to keep it neatly shut, and repressed, and maybe one day, when he would wake up to check if it was safely closed, he would find that it was gone.   
  
In fact, he had almost forgotten it existed over the past month. His mornings were now so occupied with sweet, closed-mouthed-sleepy-smile morning kisses and Alex’ bedhead tickling his chest and neck, he almost never checked for the chest, and sometimes he had the feeling it was entirely gone. Maybe it would be one day. Some part of John still hoped.  
  
But should he say all this to Rachel? Maybe he should take the opportunity of someone offering him to talk about it, offering their help like no one except Alex had ever done; maybe he should talk about it, get it off his mind, finally say it out loud to acknowledge the damage his father had done to his self-esteem, his personality and his ability to be himself, but if he really thought about it, the person he wanted to tell all of this wasn’t Rachel. It was also not his father himself, whose narrow mind would never be able to understand the things he had done and would never care about the things he had done; he would be left in the presumption that what he’d done was right, was a justified and tolerable parenting method, and John was, honestly, too scared of changing anything about it.  
  
No. The person he wanted to tell about this was Alex. Of course, always Alex, because he wanted Alex to know him properly, every inch and thought of his body and mind, and this, this was a part of him. Alex would understand, like Alex always did, because he was smart and kind and lived with his heart open to those who were willing to inhabit it, and he loved John, deeply and dearly, and John was certain it was only fair that he got to see every part of him, even the darker parts, even if John sometimes had the feeling the dark parts were too shameful to let them into daylight.

  
“Um, Rachel?” he croaked after a while of them walking, and she lifted her head, smiling up at him attentively.  
  
“I don’t think I want to talk about it just yet. But thank you for offering your help, I really appreciate it.” He managed, and she smiled wider. “Okay, that’s absolutely fine. But, let me just tell you, John…” Her smile left her features and John suddenly noticed the bags beneath her eyes. How tired she looked, like she hadn’t slept in a week; weak, awake, and incredibly exhausted. She let go of his arm and stopped walking in the shallows. John came to a halt a few feet beside her and watched her with big eyes. She wasn’t looking at him, staring at the horizon instead, and he suddenly sensed the moment as incredibly melancholic, the sort of thing that made him want to cry. Rachel took a deep breath, her flat chest heaving, and then spoke.  
  
“John- the past doesn’t define us. You don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But do not, I’m begging you, do not hold on to grudges and pain for too long. If something bad happens, and I mean, _really_ bad, let it get to you, open your heart and scream into the abyss and let the pain consume you. But not for years of your life. Cry for a few days… cry for as long as you need to, but get up again. Believe me, I’m no good example for letting go of things, my mother died when I was your age and I still plan birthday cards for her every year until I realize that she’s dead. I have a husband whom I haven’t seen in years and years, and I miss him every day. But look at me. Do I look happy to you?” She turned to face him, her features serious and unapologetic, and he hesitated for a moment, listening to gulls crying and the waves crashing and then shook his head briefly. Rachel sighed.  
  
“Alex thinks I’m _so_ strong, but the truth is, I’m not. I’m just tired. I’m tired of being ill, I’m tired of pretending I’m not to make sure Alex is okay. I’m tired of missing James, and I’m tired of needing help from others, but most of all, I’m tired of remembering I’ve never been enough. For my absent father, for my dead mother, for my sons, one of whom I haven’t seen in about a year. I cling on to things, mistakes I made, mistakes others made, and I dwell for long times on why I didn’t do better. I overthink. And I don’t… _let go_.” Rachel looked at him again, her face a mask of desperation and sadness as she attempted to smile at him with her lower lip quivering slightly. John opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came.  
  
“So _listen_ to me, John Laurens. You can always overcome troubles, you can always invent yourself new. You had a bad childhood, that’s horrible, and I’m so, so, _so_ sorry that someone stole those years away from you. But- you’re young. You have all the time you need, so- don’t end up like me, John. Let go. Don’t be a prisoner of your old self.” She looked away when she had finished her sentence and gasped wetly into the sleeve of her cardigan.  
  
John stood in the shallows with his shoulders weak and his heart beating quickly in his chest and watched Rachel wipe at her eyes furtively, unable to move as she hiccupped into her wrist.  
  
“I- I’m sorry.” He breathed after a while, unsure what else to say.  
  
Rachel looked back at him, eyed his lost expression with her puffy, red-rimmed brown eyes for a second and then smiled softly.  
  
“Don’t ever apologize for turning me into an inspirational guru, John Laurens. It’s a rare thing. Usually, only Alex can do it; I think I’m a bit sensitive today.” She murmured, and he gave a weak laugh, stepping closer to her and hesitating for a second until she pulled him in and hugged him.  
  
He was caught by surprise by it, but soon relaxed into the embrace. She smelled like hospital, salt and green tea, and he was a little scared of braking her petit frame; it wasn’t like hugging Alex. He was small, but strong and soft; Rachel was skin and bone and a big head, and John felt like she was literally about to break apart.  
  
They separated and Rachel sniffled, apologizing and pointing at a wet patch of tears in his t-shirt. He laughed and shook his head and said it was nothing, because it really wasn’t. He told her he was used to Hamiltons crying into his clothes, and it was her time to laugh and offer him her arm again.  
  
“Let’s go back. Alex looked pretty worried earlier.” Rachel said with a watery but bright smile, and John nodded, smiling right back. They started making their way towards the blanket again, and John promised himself to forget his childhood self as soon as possible; it was time to outlive Jack Laurens, and time to start a new life where he woke up as John with Alex by his side every morning and didn’t have to worry about the chest inside his chest.  
  
When they had already walked ten feet, Rachel stopped walking suddenly and weakened her grip on his arm, taking his hand instead, eliciting a yelp from John, and turned towards him to look up at him apprehensively.  
  
“Please take care of him.” She whispered. John blinked and frowned slowly, letting out a confused chuckle.  
  
“What do you mean?” he asked, painfully aware of how he already knew the answer. He swallowed hard and couldn’t bear to look Rachel in the eye; he looked instead at the sand at his feet, gritting his teeth when she replied.  
  
“Alex. We both know what’ll happen to him when I’m gone.”  
  
“You’re not gone yet-“  
  
“You know what I mean, don’t you? Because you know how he is when he’s alone. He doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, works until his body revolts. Unless someone’s there to show him his own human limits.” She searched his face and looked at him pleadingly, squeezing his hand when he remained silent, unable to form words. “But you’re not…”  
  
“You know he’s the kind of person who always wants to manage everything on their own. He likes telling himself he needs nobody, especially when he isn’t doing so good. But you know this. People need people, and when he pushes the ones he loves away, that’s when he needs them to stay the most. John. You’re smart, you must know this.” She dropped his hands and took his shoulders instead. He looked at her, his jaw set to stop it from quivering.  
  
“He needs you, too. You can’t expect me to replace you when you go. If you go. You’re not gone yet-“  
  
Rachel rolled her eyes and squeezed his shoulders. Her voice was soft and vulnerable when she continued. “You and I both know that I’m dead weight to him. I’m his mother, and I’ve been sick for so, so long, it’s honestly just a matter of time at this point.”  
  
“That’s not true. Stop saying you don’t matter-” John shook his head in protest, but she cut him off again.  
  
“Please, just remember, John. When he pushes you away. That’s when he needs you to stay the most. Promise me to watch out for him.”  
  
John glanced in the direction of the blanket briefly and saw Alex coming towards them with a grin quickly. His Alex. His lonely, little, coffee-addicted and beautiful Alex. He swallowed hard and looked back at Rachel. “I promise.” He breathed, and she smiled, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek quickly.  
  
“Thank you.” She muttered, and then Alex was with them, slinging his arms around him from behind and kissing his neck.  
  
“What were you guys talking about?.” He muttered against John’s skin. John chuckled tiredly. “A lot of things.” He replied, looking at Rachel for another moment with a small smile before taking Alex’ hand and pulling him towards the blanket.  
  
They stayed at the beach for another two hours until 5pm reading and napping and then packed their things up, shaking sand out of their blanket and making their way back to the car. Rachel insisted on driving this time, just to see if she still could, and John and Alex squeezed into the passenger seat. The drive home was quiet and uneventful; Rachel’s driving style felt a lot safer than Alex’, and the three of them were all exhausted form the wind and the cold. John had sand in his hair and felt sweaty and gross, his forehead resting against the cool window. He watched the world like through the viewfinder of a camera, trees and the street and soon houses and bridges, and always the grey, overcast sky above like a heavy blanket.  
  
Alex and Rachel were talking quietly, and John couldn’t get a clear thought; his entire brain was echoing with Rachel’s words.   
  
_But when he pushes you away, that’s the moment he needs you to stay the most._  
  
  
**George Washington sat in his office chair,** his eyes shut and his face buried in his hands, listening to the whirr of his computer and his heartbeat.  
  
He’d been sitting motionless like this for quite a while now, since Dr. Gates had left, leaving George to his thoughts and his ‘good news’ hanging thickly in the air he was breathing.  
  
_Good news._ It almost made George laugh, the absurdity of it all. Maybe he would be thrilled about this; after all, it was a raise, and Martha would be more than happy. George was sure he’d be thrilled about it – if only circumstances were different.  
  
He wiped at his forehead and sighed for the fifth time in the past minute; he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. How could Gates honestly think this was good news to him?  
  
It had been an offer Gates had talked to him about a couple of times before; George had said again and again that he didn’t want it, this ‘amazing opportunity’ of his, or asked with a pleading voice if there was any way to somehow delay it  
  
And now, here he was. In his office, breathing shakily and attempting to calm his nerves because of the possibly greatest opportunity of his life.  
  
They couldn’t do this, could they really? They couldn’t _make_ him do this, they couldn’t make it happen without his consent.  
  
George stood, his chair spinning lazily behind him as he walked to the window, his hands buried in the pockets of his white coat.  
  
He stood and looked out, his forehead almost touching the cool glass while he watched the garden, the people walking and the green-covered branches of the cherry trees dancing in the afternoon breeze.  
  
He sighed again and startled when there was a knock on the door. He turned around just in time to see Burr opening it and stretching his head in, his eyebrows lifted and a worried half-smile on his lips.  
  
“George? You wanted to see me?” The worry the nurse as well as George had been carrying around in their voices and expressions all day was pretty obviously caused by Rachel’s disappearance this morning. For about two and a half years George had been responsible for Rachel’s treatment; all this time, she’d never ran away, and the fact that Aaron had opened a door to an empty bed this morning had both of them sick with worry and George’s manager Dr. Gates nosing around in both their business.  
  
“Aaron. Yes. Come in, I need to talk to you.” George replied, trying not to sound too tired and suppressing another sigh, staring at his shoes while Aaron stalked into his office slightly shyly and stopped, leaning his hip against the edge of George’s desk and crossing his arms, watching George with a wary expression.  
  
“Is this about Rachel, Sir? Because I swear I didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance. You know me, George, I would never do such a stupid thing.” He said sincerely, and George shook his head quickly, facing the window again.  
  
“Of course not, Aaron, relax. It was probably Alex, maybe he wanted to let her enjoy her birthday outside her room. It’s not like what they did was forbidden, she can obviously leave whenever she wants to. It would just have been nice if they’d told us before they did, right?” He shrugged and stared at his reflection, breathing deeply and listening to the silence in his office. Burr cleared his throat and looked at the floor a little awkwardly. _How do I tell him? Where do I start? With an apology, maybe?  
  
_ “Then… what is it, George? Not to pressure you, but I have a _lot_ of work to do, and I believe you do, as well, so if there’s any way to cut this as short as possible, that would be nice.” Aaron said quietly but urgently, and he nodded again, turning around fully and leaving the window and the view of the tiny people in the garden behind. He walked towards his desk and Aaron, supporting himself on the table with his hands. He stared at the thick brown envelope with an unfamiliar institution’s address on it that Gates had left for him to go through and sign, and wondered if maybe if he just threw it away, Gates would forget about this, DC would just forget about this.  
  
“I- I don’t quite know how to say this, Aaron. We… as in, you, and me, because, well, we’re involved, you are as well, and Alex kind of is, too…” He drifted off, uncomfortable and breathing heavily, and Burr frowned. “… Alex as in Hamilton? George- is something wrong with Rachel? You can tell me.” Burr took a step towards him and put a hand on his shoulder gingerly, urging him to look up.   
  
George didn’t. He instead stared at the envelope, brown and official and promising bad times, for another moment of silence until he could see properly again and took a deep, shaky breath. He looked at the tips of his shoes and plucked up all his courage and the single threads of nerves that came loose when he thought about this.  
  
“I’m being transferred.” He managed.  
  
There was a beat of silence, then Burr huffed an incredulous laugh, his hand falling from Washington’s shoulder limply. “W- what? What the fuck?”  
  
George stood up straighter and took his reading glasses from the table, starting to fidget with them. “To Virginia. It’s a promotion. A manager position in DC just became vacant, and Gates says they want me down there. He didn’t really give me a moment to think about it, he just said they need me and I stammered and he took it as a yes. They _really_ want me to take it, Aaron. Apparently, they heard I am especially committed to my job and patients and want me to start in two weeks. I don’t fucking know. Just. I thought I’d tell you.”  
  
Burr let out a scoff and ran a hand through his hair. “… but you’re in the middle of a treatment, Rachel’s treatment, she- she’s terminal, and, I mean, she’s… _Rachel_ , you can’t just leave now.”  
  
George looked at him and shrugged helplessly. “I- I’m afraid I already said yes, Aaron. I didn’t even think about it, I just thought about the money, and Martha, and- and the fact that she’s pregnant and that we _really_ need the money, I mean- they’re paying me less right now despite my ‘commitment’ just because they can and just because they think it’s fun to cut their people of color-employees’ salary. I don’t know what their deal is, but it just- it’s not enough at every end at the moment. I honestly _need_ that position. There was no other choice, Aaron. I had to think of myself in that moment.” He tossed his glasses back on the table and watched his own slightly shaky hands, not daring to look at Aaron. _I can imagine what he looks like, anyway. Like he hates me. Like he despises me. Like I’m betraying him, and Alex, and especially Rachel.  
  
Can you really blame him for that, though, George? He’s fucking right to hate you. It’s the reaction any mentally healthy person would have.  
  
_ “What do you want me to tell you?”   
  
George sighed, pinching the back of his nose. “Tell me if I’m doing the right thing here. Maybe- maybe don’t be too honest. Okay, maybe don’t say anything at all.”   
  
Aaron huffed a bitter laugh unenthusiastically and crossed his arms again, seeking for George to look at him, but George again, didn’t. Aaron swallowed, loud in the uncomfortable, warm silence in the room.  
  
“Do you want me to tell… Alex?” His voice was calm and sympathetic, and Washington recognized it as the one he used when he was talking to his patients. It was forgiving and careful, like he was always terrified of breaking something with it.   
  
George sometimes found himself jealous of the kindness Burr treated people with. He thought that maybe it was a singularity of people who weren’t used to being treated with kindness, this act of giving and giving and not asking for anything in return.  
  
Honestly, it was simply amazing to George. Sometimes Aaron reminded him of Martha; the way she was putting up with him and treating him with the very same respect and compassion as in the beginning after all this time, even though the only thing he’d ever really been good at was breaking things and making the people close to him sad.  
  
Martha caught the pieces of his breakdowns and helped him put them back together in long nights of him crying and screaming into pillows and her shushing him and whispering sweet nothings into the dark.  
  
George couldn’t wrap his mind around how some people could pour their entire heart and soul into others and love them so deeply; he’d have to wait until he was a father to find out how it worked.  
  
“No. I’ll have to tell him myself.“ He muttered bitterly, already terrified of the young man’s reaction. Aaron was taking it pretty well – to be honest, Burr never really lost his temper about anything, he was the most patient person George had ever met; yet another thing he admired about him – but Alex- Alex would rage. In the moment of silence that followed, George imagined Alexander screaming at him with angry tears prickling in his eyes; George gritted his teeth and banned the image from his brain. Burr raise his voice again. “Who’s Rachel being assigned to when you leave? Do you know yet?”   
  
George shook his head with a tired sigh, finally looking up and meeting Burr’s questioning, big-eyed gaze. He knew that they were both thinking the exact same thing; that they could only pray it wasn’t Dr. Adams or one of his kind, the kind that only took their patient’s treatment seriously if said patient was white.  
  
“No, I don’t. I know you won’t get a different assignment, though, so, that’s something.” George cleared his throat and looked at the tips of his shoes again. They were quiet again, and Burr was glancing around himself, avoiding Washington with his eyes.  
  
“This place won’t be the same without you.” He muttered after a while, and George found himself smiling a little.  
  
“Thanks.” He replied, placing a hand on the envelope on the desk gingerly, and looked up. Their eyes met for a second, and Burr took a breath.   
  
“If you need help with something- finding a place in DC, or, if you and Martha need help moving, I don’t know. Anything. Just tell me, okay?”  
  
“I will. Thanks, Aaron. For everything.” He murmured again, and they smiled at each other, before Burr was retreating, walking backwards towards the door with a tired smile.  
  
“I’ll better get back to work. But… thanks- thanks for telling me.”  
  
George nodded swiftly, swallowing the lump in his throat when Aaron shut the door behind himself.  
  
He thought of Alex and the small bouquet of gerberas he had left on his desk two days after the cafeteria incident, and of Rachel’s sleepy smile he got to see every morning when he came into her room to do a routine check while Burr changed the flower water and opened the windows.  
  
_This place won’t be the same without you._  
  
George grabbed the envelope and opened it laboriously, pulling a thick stack of papers from it and sitting down at his desk again. He put on his reading glasses and took a pen into his hand, spinning it between his index finger and thumb as he started flipping through the contract.   
  
Outside the cracked window, the swift, warm breeze moved through the branches of the cherry trees and made leaves loosen and dance high up into the beautiful pre-summer day.  
  
  
**Alex, John and Rachel arrived at the hospital 40 minutes later,** and John stayed in the van, sleepily saying goodbye to Rachel; he was exhausted from the coolness of the beach and too lazy to move. Alex escorted Rachel back to her room.   
  
With every step they made closer to the ninth door on the right side of the cancer station’s corridor, her eyes seemed to lose a little bit of that childlike, happy glow they’d had the entire day; it was hard to watch, and so Alex stared at his feet most of the time and didn’t notice the door to Dr. Washington’s office opening until the doctor stepped into the hallway and shouted his name.  
  
“Oh my _God_ , Alexander. We were so worried. Where have you been, are you insane? You can’t just leave like that! Rachel, Aaron is already in your room, please go there immediately, what were you thinking? Alexander, I really need to talk to you.” He barked in one single breath. Both Alex and Rachel jumped, guilty when they heard his sharp but weirdly hollow voice. They quickly said their goodbyes with hugs and kisses and birthday wishes and parted ways, Rachel being welcomed into her room by an anxiously muttering Burr.  
  
When the door closed behind them, Alex turned around slowly and approached Washington, who was still standing in the door to his office, looking unbelievably tired, older than usually and slightly uncomfortable. They hadn’t talked since the cafeteria incident, but Alex couldn’t think of that right now; all he could think about was the very, very bad feeling he had about all of this.   
  
Whenever Washington “really had to talk to him”, it was the worst news Alex could possibly think of but, like, even worse, which then rained down on him like bullets in a war. Washington really wasn’t good at being kind about bad messages; he was very honest, sometimes even a bit blunt, and somehow, the thought that he had some bad news, especially after this nice day, made Alex feel sick with worry.  
  
“What’s the matter, then?” he asked cautiously, pushing his hands into his pockets when he came to a halt in front of Washington.  
  
The older man ran a hand over his shaved head and let out the weariest of sighs. “I think you’d better come inside.” He muttered, and Alex felt his frown deepen, walking past the man into the office slowly. Should he text John and tell him it was taking a while? Was it going to take a while?  
  
Alex had been in Washington’s bright, tidy office a thousand times; he’d known the wide desk and high medicine shelfs for almost six years, but he’d never felt quite as uncomfortable as now, when Washington closed the door and crossed the room with another one of those deep sighs and fell into his desk chair, pointing at the chair on the other side of the desk.  
  
“Sit, Alex. Relax, have a drink with me. One last time.” Washington said quietly, and Alex slowly sat, feeling numb and realizing that this feeling, this feeling was what he’d been so scared of; the uncomfortable, sinking, omnipresent pull in his stomach, the premonition of a hurricane, the feeling that was now settling in that _this was it.  
  
_ This was the beginning of the end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit is about to go. Down. Sorry for this mess, I appreciate that y'all are still even with me. I will keep writing this just in case you were wondering because the chapters are getting worse and worse. I'm not very okay these days but I will be again soon when there's less stress at school and in general. So long; I'm sorry, please stick with me, ily! Hugs and I'll see you in two weeks for everything going to shit! 
> 
> ps anyone else heartbroken about skam rn? come cry with me on tumblr (@nordpolkind)


	13. The Adams Administration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington's transfer results in a lot of changes and Alex being terrified of said changes. (aka I'm shit at summaries)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALOHA Y'ALL me is back with half a chapter!!!  
> Did you like the cliff hanger lol
> 
> This one's SAD (like very very sad) and everything is a mess. I was pretty busy this weekend with birthday stuff so I didn't get a lot down soo this chapter isn't quite done? Like there's an argument and a cute scene missing. It'll be up by Wednesday/Thursday, just check in then and see if anything's different (sorry for making you put up with my shit.)
> 
> There's two more (bc I have no self control whatsoever) explicit scenes in here marked with this [*], a lot of swearing (! there's fighting in this) and a tons of sad stuff about people dying, so you might wanna. Not read it.
> 
> I'm still a mess but i'M DOING MY BEST!! I hope you enjoy this anyway! :)

  
  
ALEX WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING WITH SWOLLEN EYES AND A HEADACHE, alone in their bed with John's as well as his own blanket wrapped around him.  
  
His throat felt sore and his nose was stuffed, and when he tried to say John's name, he had to clear his throat multiple times and then gave up, closing his eyes again. He felt like shit.  
  
He frowned and tried to remember a proper reason why he was feeling this way. He could vaguely recall being put to bed by John early last evening; he could of course recall the beach, and Washington wanting to talk to him at the hospital, and now that he thought about it, there was more.  
  
Alex remembered Washington telling him he was being transferred and that Rachel was being reassigned, and that he was not going to be at work from tomorrow on because he would be busy looking for a place in DC with his wife Martha. He remembered his chest growing tight and then incredibly wide and light, and that he got the feeling he used to get when jumping from a high-board as a kid.  
  
He was quiet for a moment, lips parted and eyes wide and breath hitching in his throat as he was trying to wrap his mind around what Washington was saying. And then came the moment he hit the water and sunk, water in his mouth and a ringing in his ears, and opened his eyes underwater just to be able to see his hair and tiny bubbles all around him and the stinging sunlight broken by the surface of the water, making everything look unrealistically beautiful.  
  
In the dead silence between him and Washington, he was remembering a perfect day when he was six and Jemmy was eight where his father took them swimming. They had enjoyed themselves until the pool was closing in the evening and they realized their father wasn't there anymore.  
  
He and his brother had spent half an hour looking for him until they found him with three packs of melted ice cream in front of the closed pool, where he said he'd been looking for them, as well, and hugged them tightly, caging the two of them, his damp-haired, sweaty and scared boys in his tree trunk arms, sighing deeply and saying he'd been worried sick.  
  
They went home and ate the ice cream out of bowls on their apartment's balcony, his father sharing with his mother. He could recall them grinning at each other fondly when he started gushing about how he'd seen the 'underwater kingdom', referring to the calm, perfect place underwater where he’d opened his eyes and seen the sunlight and the water play with each other like dancers in a theater, but only for him to see.  
  
And apparently that memory, a well-repressed, nostalgia-triggering one that he didn't think of often, was enough to send him over the edge and make him lose his temper, and suddenly, he was screaming at Washington, asking him what he was thinking, and that he couldn't just leave, not now, that this was too fucking important, if he could just give a single fuck about Rachel right now, if that wasn't his job, to take care of her. That he was not allowed to leave, that he couldn't just go like everyone else had.  
  
He remembered accidentally calling Washington 'Dad' somewhere along the way because he was now leaving, too, and it was simply not fair and he simply didn't understand why.

 

He watched Washington's expression go from apologetic to terrified to desperate to guilty, watched him hesitate and falter the second Alex let out the first choked sob when his voice started feeling too sore to yell anymore.  
  
Then Washington had come towards him and put his arms around Alex’ shoulders, and after his first impulse to push the older man away and storm out had left, he had melted against Washington’s chest and cried into his white coat soundly, begging him to not do what his father had done, to not leave him, to not leave _Rachel_.  
  
Washington hadn’t responded, he’d just told him to relax and breathe. When Alex didn’t, Washington started apologizing, and called for Burr, and then apologized again and again until Burr came and took Alex’ arm and gently pulled him out of Washington’s office. The nurse guided him down the hallway and into the elevator, his arm around his shoulder a little awkwardly as he escorted him back to the parking lot and the van, where John jumped out and ran towards them with the most worried expression Alex had ever seen, which only made him cry harder.  
  
John had wound his arms around Alex’ violently shaking torso and pulled him close against his chest and asked Burr what the fuck was going on while Alex clenched his hands into the back of his t-shirt and sobbed into his neck hoarsely.  
  
Burr told him that he didn’t really know either and helped John sit Alex down in the passenger seat. Burr drove the van back to the flower shop with John instructing him where to go with his arms still wrapped around Alex.  
  
When they arrived at the shop, John had a quiet conversation of gratitude with him while Alex sat on the steps leading up to the door, chewing on his nails. He’d stopped crying by then, but was still hiccupping when John said goodbye to Burr and practically carried him back to the apartment building, up the stairs and to their bed.  
  
Alex remembered a dreamless, brutal sleep, and now he was here, and the window was cracked, letting a shallow, lukewarm morning breeze in, and his throat was too sore to speak. He pushed John’s blanket away, leaving himself with only his own, and let out a shuddering yawn, running a hand through his greasy hair. He wasn’t wearing yesterday’s clothes but boxers and John’s stretched grey sleep sweatshirt, but there was sand in the bed at his feet. He stretched his legs out of the safety of the blanket and curled his toes, feeling too groggy for anything. The thought of ever having to stand again made him shudder.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
The sound of John’s wary voice coming from the door made Alex lift his head to look at him, fully dressed in jeans and oversized and washed-out red t-shirt, hair up and leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile and his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Alex blinked slowly and dropped his head back into the pillow limply, running a hand over his face and then hiding in the blanket again.  
  
“Hey.” He managed, a slight self-consciousness about the state John had seen him in yesterday creeping into his mind. He felt himself blush slightly _. Talking about abandonment-issues; you have a shitload of them, Hamilton._  
  
“Are you hungry?” John asked quietly after a moment, and Alex, for the first time in quite a while, wished for him to just leave; he didn’t want to be seen this way, not by John, not by anyone. It was embarrassing; his face was puffy and his eyes were red and he needed a shower, and John looked perfect and hadn’t called his mom’s doctor ‘dad’, and was probably thinking about how pathetic it was that Alex had cried for almost sixty minutes straight yesterday.  
  
“What time is it?” he rasped instead of answering John’s question. “9:30. You slept for quite a while. Are you hungry?” John repeated, and, again, instead of answering, Alex closed his eyes, burrowing himself back in the pillow.  
  
“Why aren’t you at work?” he whispered his voice shaking slightly; he already felt on the verge of tears again. How was he even still hydrated enough for crying?  
  
“I talked to Lizzy, and she said it’s okay if I wait for you to wake up to check on you before coming into work today. So, for the third time, Hamilton, are you hungry?”  
  
Alex looked at John for a moment, considering, then nodded briefly and slowly worked himself into a sitting position. John took a step into the room and Alex let himself be pulled to his feet and walked down the hallway to the kitchen by him. There was a plate of holey pancakes and coffee and orange slices on the table, and despite Alex’ brain screeching that he hated being doted on and didn’t want John’s pity or help, he couldn’t repress a small smile at the gesture. _Pancakes for hungover people. Nice one-month-ago reference, Laurens._  
  
They ate in silence, John basically forcing the pancakes down Alex’ throat and trying to get him to eat another orange slice until Alex let out a weary sigh, already feeling bad for what he was about to say when he sat back in his chair, shoulders hunched. “ _Please_ , John. Please stop.” He whispered, and John lifted an eyebrow. “Stop what?”  
  
Alex twisted the hem of his sweater in his lap, let his tired eyes slip shut and listened to their breathing for a moment.  
  
“I just- I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me. I’m fine, okay? It’s not like… I mean. I don’t need you to take care of me just because I had a mental breakdown. I have those. Everyone has those. Chill.” he opened his eyes again and cocked an irritated eyebrow at John, who was grinning softly.  
  
“Okay. You’re fine. I get it. By the way, I don’t feel like I have to take care of you, and even if I did, what’s wrong with that? Just let me have my way for once and eat this dumb orange slice now, Hamilton. I never cook. It’s a rare occasion.”  
  
At that, Alex couldn’t hold back another small grin. “Is slicing an orange really cooking, though?” he teased, and John rolled his eyes.  
  
“It is if you’re as bad at cooking as I am. I mean, look at those pancakes. They’re almost as sad as my childhood. Come on.” He pushed the plate towards Alex and nodded towards them encouragingly. Alex rolled his eyes and picked his fork back up.  
  
They continued their breakfast in silence until John asked quietly what had even happened yesterday. Alex hesitated for a moment, and then quickly and shallowly explained what he and Washington had talked about with a lot of pauses, murmuring and shrugs. John listened attentively, his chin in his hands, and then picked up his coffee cup, taking a sip before frowning at Alex when he went silent.  
  
“And what- what does that mean? Rachel’s getting a new doctor, I mean… sad story that the washing-guy is leaving, but how is it that bad?” he muttered, hesitating along the way, warily watching Alex chew on a piece of pancake.  
  
“Well. Um. The possibility of her getting some incompetent idiot for a new doctor is much more likely than her getting someone as nice as Washington. It’s just… before Washington came along, it was some racist fuck who didn’t take her treatment seriously because she’s an immigrant, or simply because he didn’t think she was going to make it in the first place. Plus, I can’t believe he’s just leaving. I know he cares about Rachel a lot. He’s always been so kind to her, him and Burr as well, it was honestly too good to be true, but I just can’t really wrap my mind around the fact that he’s supposed to be just another hypocrite who cares only about the money he gets out of it all.” Alex replied after a beat.  
  
John nodded slowly, reluctantly snapping his attention away from Alex when his phone vibrated. Alex stood slowly, picking up the empty plates and starting to wash up as he craned his neck to get a look at the screen. “What is it?” he murmured, letting lukewarm water run into the kitchen sink.  
  
“Lizzy wants to know when I’ll be at work.” John replied, looking back up at Alex, who glanced at him over his shoulder and made a quiet ‘ _Oh’_ sound at the thought of actually going to work. John seemed to notice, stood and walked up to him, slinging his arms around his waist and leaning his chin on Alex’ shoulder.  
  
“Hey… do you maybe just want to take the afternoon shift off? I could cover for you, and you could spend some time at the hospital and then... I know you don’t want to hear it but- maybe relax a little?” When Alex threw him a look, John shook his head quickly.  
  
“Okay, scratch that. I don’t really know a lot about being chronically ill, but if you’re worried about the reassignment, your Mom probably is, too, and if she is, she’ll definitely appreciate you being with her. Find out who’s taking over her treatment. And before you say it, I’m sure it won’t be some slimy hypocrite. Don’t be such a pessimist, Alex.” He nuzzled against his jaw, leaving tiny, affectionate kisses on every inch of skin he could reach.  
  
Alex looked at his hands scrubbing a plate lazily, and nodded after a moment. “I’ll take the day off. Can you tell Lizzy? I’ll just go directly to the hospital when I’m done here.”  
  
“Sure.” John smiled a small smile and kissed his cheek gingerly, causing Alex to smile slightly back at him and chase after his retreating contact when he pulled away. He let go of sponge and plate and turned around, catching John’s wrist and pulling him into a tight, soft hug.  
  
John let out a surprised sound but didn’t seem to mind Alex’ damp hands getting wet patches on the back of his t-shirt as he hid himself in the crook of his neck, shying away from the too-bright morning light. He hugged him back, kissing the top of his head, then his forehead and his temple before finally pressing his lips to Alex’, gentle and tentative and obviously asking him if he was okay.  
  
The truth was, Alex didn’t know if he was okay, but wasn’t that alright? He didn’t have to have everything figured out at the age of barely nineteen-a-half. He didn’t have to know if he was okay.  
  
He kissed John a little deeper, and then pulled away. John made a disapproving sound and went in for another kiss with a slightly breathless grin, causing Alex to giggle.  
  
“Hey, come on. Go to work.” He smiled, looking at the ceiling and taking a breath when John started kissing his jaw. “No…” John replied, discontented and muffled from where he was softly sucking on the spot beneath Alex’ ear.  
  
“Christ, John. You have no self-control.” At this, John pulled away, looking at him with an exaggeratedly offended expression.  
  
“Like you’re the one to talk, Hamilton.” He smirked when Alex lifted his eyebrows and then pulled away, walking backwards towards the kitchen door, still smiling at Alex who was leaning against the counter, watching him.  
  
“Okay, I’ll see you later. Will you be here at six?”  
  
“I think so.” Alex picked up a cup from the counter, returning to the kitchen sink and the dishes.  
  
John sighed and lingered at the door for another moment, looking at Alex as if he didn’t quite want to go and then murmuring “Hang in there, querido. And take care.” before blowing Alex a kiss and disappearing. A moment later, Alex heard the apartment’s door fall shut.  
  
He sighed into the silence of the flat, feeling a sudden, small wave of loneliness rush him without John’s reassuring presence, and lazily went back to doing the dishes. He went back to bed, read a little and checked on the flower shop group chat to apologize to Eliza for avoiding work and to tell John that he missed him already, then showered and got dressed, continuously humming songs to make the rooms he had to himself less quiet, and rolled out of the apartment a little past noon.  
  
  
WHEN HE ARRIVED AT RACHEL’S ROOM HALF AN HOUR LATER, he was surprised to find the door open and her accompanied by a man Alex didn’t know, a tall, pale man with small hands and uncomfortably sharp features who was standing by her bed and talking to her quietly. When Rachel spotted Alex by the door, she gave him a small, slightly wary smile.  
  
“Good morning, Alex.” She greeted him, disregarding the man’s confused expression.  
  
“Hey.” He replied, walking into the room hesitatingly. The man smiled at him shortly and then started talking to Rachel again. Alex stood by the door and watched them, the realization slowly coming to him that this was probably the new doctor Rachel had been assigned to.  
  
At some point, the man said goodbye to her and came stalking towards the door and Alex, smiling at him in that slightly uncomfortable way again.  
  
“You must be Mr. Hamilton. I’m Dr. John Adams, you can call me John. It’s very nice to meet you. I really don’t want to steal you from your mother, but I would like to talk to you for a second, if that’s alright. Come, join me.” He said, shaking Alex’ hand firmly without his consent. His voice was a smooth tenor that struck Alex as slightly unpleasant and not fitting his exterior, but Alex was probably just paranoid, walking into meeting Rachel’s new doctor with dark expectations. Like John had said, just because Alex’ first impression of the guy was a little off didn’t necessarily mean he was a slimy hypocrite _. Optimism, Alex, optimism_.  
  
“Um… yeah, sure. I’ll just- I’ll see you later, Mom. “He smiled at Rachel hastily before hurrying after Adams into the hallway.  
  
“I’m still moving into my office, and George – you know George, right? Uh, what am I thinking, of course you do – isn’t in today, so some of his stuff is obviously still around, but it’ll soon be better, I can promise you that.” He glanced back at Alex with a too wide grin as they approached the office.  
  
The nametag on the door had already been changed, and there were some boxes, cases and Washington’s potted plant piling in front of it; seeing all of George’s familiar stuff carried out of his office and so carelessly dropped in front of the door for him to fetch and disappear with forever was a small, painful stab to Alex’ heart. He tried not to look at the framed photograph of George and Martha at the very top of one box, swallowed and followed Adams inside.  
  
Apparently, Adams had already started moving in; there was an entire new modern office equipment inside, all chrome, leather and white and making Alex want to throw up. The doctor asked him to sit, and he did, uncomfortable in the over-air-conditioned, bare room. He put his hands in his lap, started fidgeting with his wristwatch and waited for Adams to sit, too. He didn’t; he closed the door and walked to a shelf, looking through files until he pulled one out and finally sat down opposite of Alex, crossing his legs and opening the folder.  
  
“I would like to discuss some details of your mother’s treatment with you, if that’s okay.” He didn’t wait for Alex to answer but simply attached a sticky note to the file and scribbled something down in messy, swift handwriting, meanwhile continued talking.  
  
“When I was shown my new patients’ files this morning, the ones George has been responsible for before me, I was met with the biggest mess I have ever seen. There were just so many flaws and errors in his strategy of treatment that I almost cried, honestly. I am not saying George is not a good doctor, no, that wouldn’t be the truth. He’s a fine  
guy, but there are just some possibilities he didn’t even consider. For example, a stem cell transplantation. Did you ever think about it?”  
  
Adams looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. Alex nodded hesitatingly. “We… we did, but when Dr. Washington told us what it would cost, we realized we couldn’t- we can’t afford it.” He muttered bitterly, not looking up at Adams who hummed, nodding with an expression that was probably meant to show Alex how well he understood what he was saying.  
  
“I understand. What a shame. But there’s another idea I had. There’s always some new kind of medication. A lot of my colleagues’ patients have taken part in drug testing. I could make some calls and if we are lucky enough to get something that works, your mother could get rid of her cancer in not much more than, let’s say, five months.”  
  
The doctor lifted his hands in an offering gesture, shrugging halfheartedly, and Alex picked up his ears. “Are you for real? Five months?” he asked, surprised at how full of hope his own voice sounded.  
  
“I’m not lying to you, if that’s what you think. But honestly? The likeliness of her getting something that works is incredibly small.” Adams watched Alex consider for a moment, then sat up straight and folded his hands on the table.  
  
“Listen, Alex. Can I call you Alex?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “In my opinion, we should try it. There are not a lot of possible treatment options here. And your mother’s blood test shows she is close to the third stage of her illness. Do you know what that means?”  
  
Yes, Alex did know what it meant, and, knowing what being in the third stage of chronic myeloid leukemia meant, he was left out of words for a moment, an opportunity Adams took to give him a pitying expression and fill the silence building up between them with his sly voice.  
  
“It means that if we continue her treatment the way _George_ would- “The way Adams said Washington’s name, contemptuous and slightly annoyed made Alex very aware of how Washington had always called Rachel by her first name; Adams always said ‘your mother’ or ‘my patient’, which struck Alex as distant and sort of depersonalizing. “-your mother will most likely be dead within a month. We don’t want to risk that, do we, Alex?”  
  
When Alex was unable to respond, Adams smiled at him softly – belittlingly – and stood, walking to the medicine shelf and opening it. As he dug through it, Alex stared at his lap, his lips parted slightly. He had the feeling he was going to choke on the cool air he was breathing; it smelled chemical and somehow made beads of sweat form on his forehead.  
  
He fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt – one of John’s, with a tiny picture of the globe printed on the left side of his chest – and tried to remain calm, mentally repeating John’s name to himself, things he’d said to him in the past, to stop his brain from breathlessly whispering ‘ _within a month_ ’ over and over again.  
  
“Ah, there it is.” Adams returned to the desk with a bottle of pills, putting it down in front of Alex and smiling at him.  
  
“This is a new, experimental drug they just came up with in DC; a form of leukemia very similar to your mother’s has been treated with it, and it worked very well; the ones it was used on were almost all able to go into remission a couple of months later. I can do some more blood tests and very soon start with the treatment, if you want to. I already talked to Rachel and she said that if you think it’s a good idea, we’ll do it.” He shrugged, nonchalant and smiled wider.  
  
Alex looked up at him with narrowed eyes, trying to distinguish whether he could trust this guy. He’d once decided not to trust any doctors anymore, until Washington came along, treated Rachel with respect, care and _so much_ kindness and kept her alive for over six years; but now, when he looked at Adams and his bright smile and his sparkling, baby blue eyes; he wasn’t so sure what to do.  
  
Something seemed so off about this guy, and his proposal, and his statement that Washington hadn’t seen the possibility of trying modern medication; it made Alex’ stomach ache that he couldn’t figure out what it was.  
  
Of course he wanted nothing more than to see Rachel heal and live for more well-deserved, long, beautiful years. But what if it didn’t work, or if the pills had some crazy side effect? Was it a risk Alex was willing to take?  
  
Adams sighed quietly when Alex didn’t say anything.  
  
“Look, Alex… I know we don’t know each other very well yet, and that you might not trust me. But that’s ridiculous. I want just the same thing as you do; I want to see my patient cured, healthy and happy. You want your mother back. And I can help you with that. This is the right thing to do. This, Alex, the pills in this bottle are the way to your mother’s future. If you want to sleep on it for a night- “  
  
Alex shook his head abruptly and stood, interrupting Adams.   
  
“Just- do it, okay? I just want her to be okay. Whatever it takes, help her.” he said, voice wavering just a bit. Adams lifted an eyebrow and stood up as well.  
  
“Are you sure you want to do this? You have to understand that this is a very serious decision, they developed the drug not long ago. It might change nothing at all or even worsen her symptoms; her immune system might collapse all the way. Are you aware of that?” The doctor eyed Alex’ face thoroughly until Alex nodded, a little less sure of what he was doing this time. He swallowed before answering “Yes. I’m aware. Please do it anyway.” In a thick voice.  
  
Adams’ face lit up slowly and he walked around the desk, patting Alex’ shoulder a little too firmly, making him wince. The doctor was grinning, widely, saying “Good, I’ll speak to my supervisor immediately. Thank you for your time, Alex, I’m sure we’ll be very good friends soon.” He said loudly, and, leaving his cool and unfamiliar hand on Alex’ shoulder, guided him to the door.  
  
As soon as it fell shut, Alex let out a heavy breath, leaning against the wall, his heart racing. He felt sick; like he’d just made an incredibly wrong decision, like something bad was about to happen. The high board-jumping-underwater-sunlight feeling he had felt when talking to Washington yesterday.  
  
He tried to even out his breathing and got his phone out of his pocket. His hands were shaking hard as he texted John.  
  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
I think I just killed my mother  
**JLau  
** Wait what  
Is she okay  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I consented to her new doctor to have her treated with some weird drug from DC?  
**JLau  
** Wtf Alex why would you do that  
Btw how is The Doctor  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
He's highkey weird I have a bad feeling about him  
I don’t like him  
**JLau  
** You don’t like anything  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I like sleep and you  
**JLau**  
uwu  
Anyway why would you consent to such a thing  
They put all kinds of shit into those meds  
The pharma industry is the biggest shit you know that  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
I DON’T KNOW  
Seriously it was super weird he 102% hypnotized me  
**JLau  
**??  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
Anyway aren’t you supposed to tell me it’s gonna be fine  
Not pick on me for making bad life decisions **  
JLau  
** That’s not really my job tho  
My job is to critically and honestly reflect your decisions and love you despite the dumb ones  
But alright  
It’s gonna be fine, seriously, you worry way too much, it’s very likely all going to be okay  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** You’re such a bad liar  
Ugh I’m exhausted  
**JLau  
** Why  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
Talking to Adams was exhausting the guy is so fucken sly  
Should I talk to Mom  
**JLau  
** You probably should  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
But I don’t want to  
I just want to go home and sleep tbh  
I hate it when I get like this btw pls forgive me for being a mess  
**JLau  
** Jfc Alex I’m a mess too find your chill I love you  
At least tell her you said yes to the guy’s offer  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
Why are you always so responsible and smart and insightful and mature and perfect  
**JLau  
** Alex are you okay  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I don’t really know?  
**JLau  
** Go talk to Rachel and then go home and rest. Remember I love you  
**A-Dot-Ham  
****♥**  
  
When Alex told Rachel he’d taken Adams’ offer she seemed delighted. When he asked her if she didn’t feel like something was weird about him, she shook her head softly, giving him a ‘come-on-really-?’ look.  
  
She generally didn’t seem worried at all, maybe a bit sad about Washington leaving and somebody else taking over, a little uncertain if she liked the new doctor, but not like she didn’t trust him.  
  
Alex didn’t trust Adams. Not at all. Something was not quite right about the guy, and the fact that Rachel didn’t think so put him even further off. They talked a bit about the beach and how Alex was doing at work and with John, and then he left, waving her goodbye tiredly.  
  
He came home to a quiet apartment and undressed on the way to their room, dropping his stuff in the hall and then himself into their bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin, closing his eyes and immediately drifting off.  
  
  
“HUH, THAT REALLY DOESN’T SOUND GOOD. WHERE IS HE NOW, THOUGH?” Laf leaned across the counter, looking at John with a worry between his eyebrows.  
  
John shrugged and muttered “At home, probably sleeping. I’m really worried about him. He’s been really quiet since yesterday, didn’t talk a lot this morning either. It can’t just be because of that doctor quitting. It has to be more than that.” While grabbing his cup and sitting down at the counter.  
  
It was 5pm, the coffee shop almost empty safe them, Angelica and Madison at a corner table, study material out, Peggy reading Black Sails fanfiction on her phone next to them with her red lips attached to the straw of one of Maria’s trademark iced teas she started making every year when June came around. There were only a few customers, a couple talking outside and a group of students with their faces buried in coffee cups and notebooks inside.  
  
John had come to the shop alone after Herc had volunteered to take his shift with a pitying expression when he’d dropped more than two vases in the shop, caused by his worried mind constantly slipping to Alex and his fingers turning into butter whenever it did. Eliza had cocked an eyebrow and grumbled something about how he and Alex were fucking attached at the hip but hadn’t stopped him when he’d left his apron in the back room and disappeared through the door, shoulders hunched and eyes absently glued to the pavement.  
  
Laf had already asked him in the kitchen this morning where Alex was – the Frenchman had opened the door to see a crying Alex in his arms yesterday, and obviously wanted to know what had happened. John hadn’t been able to tell him this morning, but he had now, and Laf had gasped and nodded and watched him with a sad expression.  
  
“I think you underestimate their relationship, mon petit lion. Maybe – George, wasn’t that his name? Maybe George is something more to notre cœur Alexandré than just some doctor.” When John cocked an eyebrow at him, he threw his hands up in the air.  
  
“Don’t look at me like that, mon dieu! I mean, maybe he’s like a second try at a father. I don’t know Alex that well, but you do. Don’t you think it’s possible he looks up to him like that? I think it’s quite plausible, considering the fact that the man kept Alex’ mother alive for this long.” Laf watched him take a sip of his coffee with big brown eyes and lifted eyebrows.  
  
“… I don’t know. I mean, we did talk about our respective daddy issues before, but a Washington was never explicitly mentioned. Besides, I don’t think he likes talking to me about… that stuff.” John murmured. He looked at the wood of the counter while Laf let out a scoff and started talking about how the two of them had some serious communication issues and that John was Alex’ boyfriend, and if he wasn’t going to talk to him, then who else he would talk to.  
  
John knew Laf was right; he just didn’t want to pressure Alex into talking to him and get into his personal space about it. Maybe he’d let himself get used to things working out for too long; cozied into this perfect life with Alex and Rachel both being okay and all his friends being safe. He’d let his guard down; how foolish he had been.  
  
He soon stopped listening to Laf’s rant and instead let his mind slip and be occupied with his worry. Of course, he would never know if Alex was okay if he didn’t ask. Somehow, though, he didn’t think he quite wanted to know.  
  
He took another sip of his coffee, tuning back in to Laf still talking about how communication was the key to a healthy relationship and smiling at his friend across the counter.  
  
“Laf, I know I should talk to him. I’ll do it the next time I see him, okay? Now, could you pass me some sugar, please?” he asked with an amused scoff. Laf cocked an eyebrow, grabbing a package of sugar and holding it in his hand.  
  
“Do you promise, mon ami? I don’t want the two of you to break each other’s hearts because of a little bit of miscommunication. Or a lack of.” John rolled his eyes and huffed a nervous laugh.  
  
“We won’t break each other’s hearts, Laf. I’ll talk to him. Promise.” He replied with an amused frown before reaching for the sugar and ripping it open.  
  
“You better do.” Laf muttered under his breath before Maria called for his help and he blew John a kiss, running off to join her by the coffee machine.  
  
“I’ll talk to him.” John murmured once more as he watched the brown grains of sugar sink and disappear in his coffee’s foam slowly.  
  
  
THEY DID ACTUALLY TALK WHEN JOHN CAME HOME IN THE EVENING. They made themselves tea and sat on the windowsill in their room; John smoked and they spoke quietly as the sun set and the traffic passed deep below them. Alex explained how Rachel had been treated by a racist, careless doctor called Thirdking before his assistant at the time, Dr. Washington took over; how it only got better from then on and how she went into remission multiple times while he grew up, and that he was simply incredibly afraid that Adams was of the same kind as Thirdking.  
  
When John asked why Alex was so scared, and after not saying anything for almost thirty seconds, Alex took John’s joint and inhaled, blowing smoke into the orange light of the day’s end.  
  
“I’m scared of everything going wrong. Because I’m not used to things going well for a long time. And they have been going so well recently. I mean… I love you. So much. And I’m so glad I get to be with you. It’s such a privilege, John, you have no idea. And my mother has been doing quite well. And… it’s just that… change… change is terrifying when everything is good. I never used to be scared of things changing, because things were always so shitty that there wasn’t really a way for them to get any worse anyway. But now… I guess I’m just realizing I have a lot of things to lose.”  
  
He shrugged, smiling at John and handing the joint back to him. John took it but didn’t drag on it, just looked at Alex, his lips parted.  
  
“I… I don’t know what to say, to be honest. I mean… you don’t have to be scared of change, Alex, because… it’s inevitable. And see how many positive changes have happened in your life. For example, you decided to move to New York, and it might have sucked at first but look around, Baby Girl.” He gestured around vaguely, grinning when Alex laughed. He dragged on the joint hurriedly and exhaled as he continued talking; reveling in the fact that Alex couldn’t take his eyes off him with a small, adoring grin on his face.  
  
“You met me. And we became friends, and now we’re together. And… I’m not saying all change is good, because dude, my Mom died, and that wasn’t good because then I moved in with my Dad, and we both know how that turned out- “They both chuckled tiredly at that.  
  
“- but there’s so many things that are so good. We can even get married one day because… because of change. Plus, there’s one thing that won’t ever change.” He smiled cheesily when Alex’ frowned.  
  
“What’s that?” The other boy asked quietly, watching John closely with big eyes. John smiled wider and stubbed the joint out, eyes glowing. He put the ashtray aside and shifted on the windowsill, one leg in the room and the other outside as he slid towards Alex to lean in.  
  
Their lips brushed just slightly and then came hovering just above each other. John smiled and placed his hands on Alex’ thighs, pushing them apart slightly to sit between them. They breathed together, eyeing each other with hooded eyes and small, adoring smiles as they sat motionless for a while. Alex smelled like weed and salt, and John shivered when the other boy reached up to run his hand up the sensitive skin of his neck and into the small curls at the base of his skull, scratching at his scalp.  
  
“Tell me about that…” he swallowed. “… that one thing that won’t ever change. Is it the cheesy thing I think… is it the cheesy thing I think it is…?” Alex murmured, distracted when John licked his smiling lips.  
  
“It might be. What’s the cheesy thing you think it is?” he asked teasingly, lifting his hand from Alex’ thigh to put it on his waist.  
  
Alex’ breath hitched slightly and he blinked, flicking his cloudy eyes up from John’s lips briefly in favor of his eyes. He tightened his grip on John’s neck, his jaw set.  
  
“I think it’s this. I think… it’s us.” He whispered hesitatingly. John smiled, nodding briefly and whispering “It’s us.” before he finally closed the gap by pushing his jaw forward just an inch.  
  
Their lips met softly, gingerly before they parted again, searing their foreheads together and breathing each other and the orange sunlight that they were drowning in. John brushed his thumb over Alex’ cheek, causing him to smile with his eyes closing when John leaned back in.  
  
[*] They kissed again, a little deeper this time, which, judging by the way Alex’ muscles tightened beneath John’s hands when he splayed his fingers up his chest, seemed to be less at odds with what he was craving.  
  
He smiled against his boyfriend’s lips and moved closer as he sucked Alex’ bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth over it and tilting his head so their mouths slotted together more fully.  
  
Alex sighed softly and rested his arms on John’s shoulders, letting himself be pressed back into the windowpane by John and gasped in an open-mouthed grin, sparks of pleasure running down his spine when John dug his fingers deeper into his thighs, mouth descending to his throat to leave little love-bites.  
  
When he came up for air, his pupils were blown and his lips swollen. “Shit.” He gasped, tugging at Alex’ waist. “We gotta get off this fucking windowsill. We’ll fall or something.”  
  
Alex nodded absently, pushing John away briefly and clambering to the mattress beneath the window clumsily while John shifted again so he was sitting with his back to the window. Alex stood on the mattress between John’s legs, John so much higher than him that he had to reach up and stand on his toes. They kissed like this, hungrily and never getting close enough until John was so dizzy he slid off the windowsill and dragged Alex down to the mattress as he collapsed on it.  
  
Alex came in on top of him, straddling him, brushing hair away from his face and looking at the heavily breathing, swollen-mouthed and red-throated mess he’d made of John before he cupped his jaw with one hand and leaned down again. While John was slowly coming undone with Alex’ lips attached to his neck, letting out breathless moans, Alex’ other hand wandered down his torso and slid into the warmth beneath his t-shirt, running over his abdomen and chest, his back and beneath his jeans.  
  
“Alex… shit- “John didn’t manage to finfish his sentence when he Alex’ hips rubbed up against his thigh; John could feel his erection pressing into him and let out a stifled moan. Alex’ breath was hot against his ear.  
  
“Take off your pants, J.” he whispered, and John’s eyes opened for a second when he recognized the nickname.  
  
“Are you going to…?” He trailed off as he looked up at Alex with an awestruck expression. Alex ran a hand through his loose hair and made John whimper quietly in anticipation when he nodded, smiling sweetly.  
  
“I will if you want me to.” He muttered and after a beat of staring and panting dove back in to nip at the skin just above the hollow of John’s throat sharply. John made a breathy noise in the back of his throat, and as a response to Alex’ offer, let his legs fall apart.  
  
Alex smiled again and pressed another kiss to his neck before reaching down to unbutton and undo John’s pants, working them off with John’s help.  
  
Outside the window, as they undressed each other with quick, longing hands, the sun was setting, painting the sky a deep orange color and making the city go up in flames.  
  
  
WHEN ALEX CAME INTO THE HOSPITAL EARLY THE NEXT DAY, a bright, humid-aired Tuesday with a slightly sick feeling and his legs aching from the things he and John had done in the evening, Adams caught up with him on the way to Rachel's room.  
  
The doctor was still wearing a light trench coat over his white coat and a to go cup of coffee from the new Starbucks stop that had opened only a block away from the Café Adrienne that Laf had complained about at breakfast in his hand, as if he'd only just arrived. Before Alex could ask him why he came into work this late, the doctor told him with a bright-teethed smile that he had already instructed the nurse - Burr, how Alex concluded; apparently, Adams didn't like mentioning any other person than himself in a positive context - to give Rachel some of the new pills.  
  
Alex tried to smile back at him when he told him, but his smile turned out mildly crooked. He muttered something along the lines of "Wow, that's great!", and before he could ask if Adams could just leave his job to Burr like that, the man was already waving goodbye and disappearing in his office.  
  
Alex stood in the corridor a little lost and, after a moment, noticed the empty spot where Washington's boxes and plant had been. He felt his lips part slightly; had Washington honestly left without even saying goodbye?  
  
He shook his head to himself in disbelief as he padded to the door to Rachel's room. _The guy must really have been looking forward to getting out of here.  
  
_ A week of the treatment with the new pills passed, then another one, and on a Sunday, the second week of Rachel’s new treatment, Alex came around 9am and didn‘t find Adams when he let himself into the doctor’s office to ask for news of Rachel’s treatment.  
  
Over the past two weeks, the doctor had taken a too-fast liking to Alex, so quickly that it seemed sort of fake. Their conversations were always held in a slightly, indistinguishably sour tone and ended with uncomfortable smiles, and even though Adams was continuously desperately trying to get Alex to trust him, Alex couldn’t bring himself to do so.  
  
Every time they met and Alex asked how it was going, Adams started talking in a bashful but wavy voice about how great his treatment was; how good it was for Rachel and how _modern_ , how _progressive_ , that you could practically watch her come back alive. Whenever Alex asked him if he had the results of some test already so they could see if what he was saying was true, he always got convenient calls or some appointment reminder on his Blackberry and ran off with a hushed, quick apology, telling Alex that they would ‘see each other around’.  
  
Adams turned out to be a very absent doctor, too; he was rarely in Rachel’s room himself, he always sent Burr with pills and a full schedule of things he needed Rachel to swallow with water today. It was always an alarmingly high and colorful number of pills, and it seemed to grow and change colors regularly, and Alex, John and Burr coped by smiling and pretending not to notice how Rachel was growing paler and paler.  
  
There were always dark bags beneath her eyes; apparently, some of the pills had a side effect of the inability to sleep. She disappeared in her bed when she lay in it; someone, probably Burr, got her a book holder when her hands became too weak to hold books. It was getting worse day by day.  
  
There were, of course, days that were less bad; she smiled and sometimes even left her room; but Alex' regular brunch with her in the cafeteria and their occasional walks in the park were history. Sometimes – Rachel was in a wheelchair by then, since Burr decided she shouldn’t be walking too much – Alex would spread a blanket on her knees – she was continuously cold these days – and would take her to the big windows at the end of the west wing, and they would sit and stare out, over the park or the streets beyond. Alex would point at things and say stuff and Rachel would try to smile but fail.  
  
Obviously, Adam’s treatment wasn’t doing any good whatsoever. It actually seemed to worsen Rachel’s symptoms and push her towards what had been inevitable coming for years now; and Alex by now understood why and could somehow, if very slowly and with John’s incredibly patient emotional support, cope with it - if he was being honest, his sanity was a thin thread, and John was the only one keeping it in one piece; he was a saint, a golden hearted, patient and worried saint that offered his arms to hold him and his lips to numb him and his advice and comfort and patience whenever he cried - which he did way too frequently, on almost every second night.  
  
Or let’s say Alex was trying his best to cope and understand what was happening to his mother. But the one thing he simply couldn’t wrap his mind around was why Adams wasn’t doing anything. He didn’t even leave his office most of the time, and so Alex wasn’t that surprised to not find Adams anywhere in the station at all on that Sunday morning.  
  
His mistrust towards the doctor seemed to be proven right when he asked the nurse at the station’s reception where he was and she told him the doctor wasn’t in today and not coming again until Friday. He asked her who was taking over his mother’s treatment until then, and she just shrugged, saying there didn’t seem to be a proxy assigned, but that she would see what she could do.  
  
Alex strode back down the hallway at a brisk pace, brows furrowed deeply. What was Adams thinking? Yes, he was never quiet present, but this was a new low. Could he honestly just leave like that, without telling them or leaving someone in office instead of him? It seemed ridiculously careless to Alex, and lit a fire in his belly that he didn’t quite know how to put out as it licked at his insides, leaving him breathlessly furious but with nowhere to put the anger with its cause not at work until _fucking Friday_.  
  
Adams had promised Alex that he would have the first blood test results by the end of the week, as well, but now he wasn’t even here. Alex let out a sharp sigh, thinking he’d known from the very beginning that there was something seriously wrong with the guy, and went to room number nine.  
  
He found Rachel sitting cross-legged and slumped in a chair, pale and absent as ever – a ghost of what she used to be only half a month ago – staring at her striped-socked feet and more or less listening Burr muttering angrily as he changed the sheets. This was another thing that had changed with Washington leaving; Burr rarely ever smiled.  
  
He hadn't been a particularly bright personality before, but now he seemed tired, snappy and on the verge of losing his temper all the time. Alex was probably behaving just the same way; he probably just didn't notice it about himself as much as about Burr. There was this constant wariness in the thick air of the cancer station, like the warm, dangerous calm before the storm, something that made everyone feel uneasy and anxious, like everyone was mentally begging for something to happen, although nobody really knew what it was.    
  
"Hey you guys.” He muttered when he came into the room. Burr made an angry noise and threw a pack of tissues that had been next to the pillow in the general direction of Rachel’s bedside table; it fell to the floor, which caused Burr to make another angry sound, bend over to pick it up and throw it at the bedside table once more.  
  
“Can you chill, Burr?” Alex muttered and leaned down towards Rachel in the chair to press a kiss to her temple; she looked up briefly at him but it didn’t seem like she was seeing him.  
  
Burr ignored Alex, threw down the pillow he’d been wrestling with and let out an annoyed sigh.  
  
“Can you _believe_ they make me change the sheets now?” he hissed incredulously, and Alex huffed an unenthusiastic, dripping-with-sarcasm laugh, frowning as he leaned against the table. “How _inhumane_. Who’s making you change the sheets?”  
  
Burr threw him his trademark death stare and picked the pillow back up, shaking it out. “Adams, that piece of trash, of course. Who else? This is not what I get paid for, for fuck’s sake.” The last sentence was muttered in a frustrated, quiet voice; Burr was almost pouting a little.  
  
Alex looked at the nurse, who was now shaking out the blanket and felt the thought of asking him about the blood test quietly knocking at his mind’s door, asking for attention. Alex took a breath. “Um, Burr? Do you know anything about- about how the blood test you made the other day turned out?” he asked hesitatingly. Burr gave him a weird look. “Didn’t Adams tell you before he left? He told me, after all.” he asked quietly after a brief silence. _Did he tell me what?_ It definitely couldn’t be good, judging by the look on Burr’s face.  
  
When Alex shook his head hesitatingly, swallowing, the nurse nodded briefly with a short eye-roll.  
  
“Yeah. That sounds like him. What a fucking asshole. Seriously, of all the doctors in this dang hospital, who do we get? Oh, _of course_ , John Adams! Not Lincoln, or Kennedy, or at least Clinton, no! Fucking _John Adams_ , the most incompetent, sly idiot of them all.” He threw the blanket down on the bed with a little too much force while Alex picked up his ears.  
  
With a furtive look at Rachel, who was still absently staring at the floor, her eyes hooded as if she was about to fall asleep, pushed himself off of the table to walk towards Burr. “Have you worked with him before?” he asked.  
  
“If I worked with him? Sure, I did. He treated at least four of my patients in the past three years, and- they all died a couple of weeks after he took over. He’s said to purposefully test the wrong drugs on patients of color.” he replied quietly, crossing his arms and glancing at Rachel again.  
  
Alex blinked, incredulous. “And you decide to tell me this now?”  
  
Burr threw his hands up in the air. “I thought George would have told you, but he obviously just left without telling you anything. Or, I don’t fucking know, I didn’t think you wanted to hear?” Alex scoffed and frowned at Burr, incredulous. “Of course, I would want to hear? She’s my mother, for fuck’s sake!” he hissed back, and Burr withdrew with a shaky sigh to unnecessarily smooth the blanket down with his left hand pressed to his mouth.  
  
When he looked up again, his unusually excited expression had left, he was back to his cool, worried look.  
  
“Rachel, you can to back to bed now, if you want to.” He said loudly, avoiding looking at Alex as he strode out with his hands buried in the pockets of his pants.  
  
He left the door open, and Alex looked to the spot where he’d disappeared for a moment, realizing the nurse still hadn’t told him how the blood test had turned out, and then turned towards Rachel, who still hadn’t moved out of the chair. He stalked towards her slumped figure slowly and bent over beside her. “Mom, do you want to go back to bed?” he asked quietly. Rachel blinked and looked up at him.  
  
“Um... sure. Can… can you help me up? I don’t feel so good today.” She murmured. He held a hand out to her with an apprehensive expression. When she grasped it with a small, breathy smile and pushed herself to her feet shakily, her fingers were cold in his; he almost startled at how fragile they felt and looked down at her with wide, worried eyes as he guided her to the freshly made bed. Her steps were small and careful next to his. They made their way slowly and it seemed to take ages.  
  
“So- what about those blood tests? You have to know how they turned out.” he said quietly while he sat her down on the edge of the bed. She pulled her legs up and buried herself beneath the blanket, closing her eyes with a sigh.  
  
There was a stretch of silence with Rachel breathing and blinking and avoiding Alex’ questioning gaze, and Alex waiting patiently, crossing his arms in front of his chest when he shivered slightly in the cool, quiet room.  
  
“Umm… the thing he treated me with, were you ever specifically told what it was?” she muttered after a while. She looked up at Alex, her pale lips parted, and Alex shook his head, swallowing. His knees felt slightly weak, so he sat down and took her cool right hand into his bigger, warmer ones.  
  
“It’s- uh- it’s way more complicated than that, but it works sort of like an immunization. It’s what they treat chronic lymphoid leukemia with, and for some reason- “she paused, taking a deep breath. “Adams thought it would work on myeloid, as well. Why did we agree to this again?” She shrugged sadly, refusing to look at him. She was fumbling with the corner of the blanket, watching the motion of the fabric between her blunt-nailed fingers.  
  
“And now, when Aaron showed me the blood test results- The number of white cells in my blood has been rapidly increasing without any kind of restraint, and the- apparently, my immune system has taken immense damage. He agreed to stop the treatment with that drug, but he also said it is possible that if we go back to George’s old treatment strategy, simple chemo therapy, a little bit of ray-treatment to prevent a metastasis, he said my immune system might not handle the side effects very well or at all since the DC-meds weakened it so much. He said that there isn’t really anything we can do, because anything we could do against the cancer would possibly kill me with some crazy side-effect.”  
  
Alex blinked into the silence that followed Rachel’s words. They looked at each other, he drew in a breath to say something but felt it leave his lungs again without any words rolling off his tongue.  
  
“But- but he’s a doctor. Isn’t he the one person who’s supposed to know what to do?” He asked after a while. His voice sounded strange, a little tight and high-pitched; it didn’t sound like it was him talking, it sounded a bit like sixteen-year old Alexander, and it disgusted him. He cleared his throat while Rachel shrugged.  
  
“He never did seem particularly interested in curing me, did he?” she breathed, her voice shaky and weak; it struck Alex suddenly as the voice of someone who was afraid, who was terrified of the inevitable, which made Alex’ head swim.  
  
“There’s nothing we can do about it, is there? I mean, if I’m…” Alex watched her swallow and lift and drop her hands in a slightly helpless gesture. Rachel took a breath to continue but he stopped her before she could say anything.  
  
“Don’t say it.” He said quietly, shoving the words hush between her lips and taking her hand; it was shaking slightly, and it was still cold, _so_ cold, and Alex got the feeling her body temperature was taking over his own; he shivered slightly and grasped her fingers tighter, urging her to look at him.  
  
“I don’t want to hear it.” He whispered. Rachel glanced at him through hooded, short lashes and then looked back at her lap.  
  
“Isn’t it better to say it openly? We both know it’s going to happen. Hell, Alex, it has been happening for seven years. It might feel abrupt to you now, but I know that I’ve been dying for quite a while. You can’t keep thinking of death as a moment, that’s not what it is. It’s- it’s a process. A process we’re all going through all the time, since our first breath. Don’t get me wrong-” She sighed shakily, pulled her hand away from his and brought it up to her eyes to wipe at them furtively, gasping wetly.  
  
Alex stared at her with big eyes; his chest felt weirdly wide, like it was going to fly open any second as he looked at his mother’s pale, sad face.  
  
What was she talking about? Wasn’t she the one who was supposed to still have some kind of hope? Didn’t she always say things were going to be alright?  
  
What had happened to that?  
  
“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to die, if that’s what it sounds like. I used to be at peace with it, but- I don’t know, I’m tired but I still have so much to do and -“She rolled her eyes when a tear rolled from her eye, lifted her hand to wipe it away and looked at Alex.  
  
“I feel like the hardest part of this is… _leaving you_. Do you understand what I’m saying?”  
  
Alex blinked and frowned, and huffed a quiet, confused laugh. “I think I do.” He whispered after a moment. Rachel looked at him questioningly.  
  
“Alex… you have to understand that I want to stay with you but- I can’t control fate, I can’t stop what’s happening. I’ve made my peace with that, but I feel like you don’t quite understand it… yet.” She continued, placing a slim hand on his shoulder. He avoided looking at her; glared at his hands in his lap and tried hard not to focus on what she was saying; he thought of yesterday evening; of orange light and smoke that made him giddy and his tongue light, and John smiling at him, John kissing him and John telling him they would last, John’s freckles and the light turning his hair into gold and his teeth glistening and his eyes glowing, him squinting at him and the corners of his wide mouth digging dimples into his cheeks and _it’s us, it’s us, it’s you and me_ -  
  
“You have to let me go at some point.”  
  
Alex looked up and met Rachel’s desperate hazel eyes.  
  
Growing up, people had continuously told him he looked just like his father; he had the same long nose and soft jawline, hair structure and mischievous smile; he was quick-witted and short-tempered and relentless and annoying like his father, but the one thing he got from his mother were his eyes.  
  
They were wide, round and dark and kind; forgiving at times, burning at other times, but he carried Rachel’s tenderness well, and when he looked up at her, for a second he thought he was looking at himself.  
  
“But I don’t want to be alone.” He heard himself croak.  
  
Rachel blinked and sighed, her expression twisting into a slight, watery smile. She took his face into her hands.  
  
“You are not alone.” She replied; her voice was urgent and quiet. Alex opened his mouth to say something in return, his lips quivering slightly as he shook his head in her hands, but she just shushed him.  
  
“You’re never going to be alone, Alex. You’ll always have Jemmy only a call away, and you’ll always have your friends, and you will always have John, and somehow, you’ll always have me, too. One way or another.” Rachel smiled at him softly, pointing at his chest and then pulling him into her arms.  
  
He buried his head in her shoulder and inhaled her scent of hospital, fresh washed clothing and homeliness, closed his eyes slowly and mentally whispered John’s words to himself.  
  
_It's us, it’s us-  
  
_ They held each other and the world outside spun loudly, blood roaring in Alex’ ears as he wished to never open his eyes again so he could stay in this moment, where Maria and Eliza were okay, and Angelica and Madison and Jefferson were okay, where Laf, Peggy and Herc were okay and where he was okay and where John was okay, and the earth was moving around the sun and the moon was moving around the earth, and Rachel was here, here, here.  
  
_\- it’s us -  
_  
Somehow, John’s voice soothingly whispering those two words in Alex’ head was replaced by an image of himself, alone in the dark, standing with his back to a wall and anxiously screaming into an endless void that he was _not alone_.  
  
He wasn’t. He was not alone.  
  
He held Rachel and Rachel held him, and somewhere in the universe, stars were dying every day and he wasn’t harmed by it. And one day, the sun, that was only another star after all, would die, too, but it was okay because _Rachel won’t go. She won’t go.  
  
She won’t go.  
_  
Alex went home in the afternoon; Rachel had fallen asleep around 2pm and he’d sneaked out of her room and down the corridor and into the elevator and out of the foyer, and when he came to the flower shop a while later, John was on the front step, waiting for him. They went inside with their fingers intertwined, and when John asked if Rachel was okay, he said yes, desperately trying to convince himself that he was not lying.  _  
_  
  
TECHNICALLY, EVERYTHING WAS ALRIGHT UNTIL Alex came to the hospital on Thursday morning and was caught up with in the hallway by an anxious Burr.  
  
The nurse greeted him with a graveyard-expression and hastily asked him when he’d had his last common cold or influenza; when Alex told him with a frown that he hadn’t been ill in quite a while, Burr sighed and let him through to Rachel’s room, muttering quietly that she had caught the flu from someone.  
  
Alex frowned at him as they walked to her room together. Why was Burr panicking about the flu? Rachel had had it a couple of times in the last years without Burr making a fuss about it. What was different this time?  
  
He understood when he entered the room after Burr and found Rachel small and grey with puffy eyes and a tired smile in her bed.  
  
Alex hadn’t been in the hospital the past two days, since he’d spent most of his time helping Laf, Herc, John and Peggy with finally moving Peggy’s stuff from the Schuyler’s East Village apartment into their place, so he didn’t recognize the woman in the bed as his mother immediately.  
  
He hadn’t known someone could change so much overnight.  
  
She had been looking increasingly worse over the past days, but it was no comparison to how different she looked now. Her voice was a weak sing-song when she greeted the two of them and then coughed dryly into her hand; Alex stopped at the door and watched as Burr walked towards her, sat on a chair next to the bed and passed her a tissue, supporting her with his wide hand on her strait back as she didn’t stop coughing.  
  
That’s when Alex understood.  
  
An influenza was not something Burr usually freaked out about, because usually, Rachel’s immune system would deal with the sickness in a few days; she would be struck down with fever for a while, but it would get better eventually. This time, though, her immune system was busy working against the side-effects of her chemo-therapy, and since it was still weakened from Adam’s pills, it wouldn’t be able to fight off the virus and her symptoms at the same time.  
  
“Alex?”  
  
He blinked, startled when Burr said his name. The nurse was watching him with lifted eyebrows, holding an empty glass out to him while he ran his hand over Rachel’s shoulder blades soothingly; she was breathing deeply, her jolting fingers clinging to Burr’s hand. Her eyes were shut tightly and she was facing her lap, and Burr said his name again, more urgently this time. It occurred to Alex that he couldn’t remember when the nurse had finally stopped using his Christian name.  
  
“Alex, could you go to the room next to Adam’s office, get a bottle of non-sparkling water and fill this?” when Alex’ feet wouldn’t move, the nurse stood with a weary sigh and walked towards him, causing Rachel to open her eyes briefly. Their eyes met for a long second and Burr pushed the glass into Alex’ hand, grabbing him by the shoulders and steering him towards the door.  
  
Alex glanced at Rachel over his shoulder, wishing to see her smiling at him, but she was already looking at Burr with cloudy eyes again, who was back by her bed and rubbing her back, asking her if she was in pain, if she wanted to sleep and if she even felt in the condition to have a visitor.  
  
They disappeared from the corner of his eye as he stumbled down the hallway to find the supply room Burr had been talking about. After a while of week-kneed staggering and confused looks, he found it and grabbed a water bottle; he pressed it to his chest on the way back to the room, scared that he would drop it if he held it in his shaking hands.  
  
A _she won’t go_ was on his lips again and threatening to come out in a small cry, so he jogged to Rachel’s room and left the water on her bedside table; Burr, who was helping Rachel into a horizontal position looked up briefly, but they barely paid him any attention as he strode out again, down the corridor and to the station’s single person bathroom, where he pushed open the door and locked it behind himself with shaky, numb fingers, getting his phone out of his pocket.  
  
By the time John picked up, Alex’s breathing was labored and he was leaning against the cool, clean tiles of the wall, facing the brightness of the neon lights on the ceiling.  
  
“Alex?” When he heard John’s voice, familiar and a welcome warmth in his head, he let out a deep breath.  
  
“John.” He replied lamely, voice hollow and far away. He swallowed and pinched the back of his nose; he was feeling dizzy, so he staggered to the toilet seat and sat down on it, his free hand clenched around his knee, and stared at the floor between his feet.  
  
“Is something wrong? I’m at work right now, can I call you back?” Alex shook his head abruptly with wide, startled eyes and, realizing John couldn’t see it, blurted out a “No, please. Don’t go. Something bad is happening, I think- I-” His breath hitched in his throat and he heard John shift and his hushed voice as he talked to someone on the other end of the line. Alex counted the seconds until there was the sound of cars and wind, and John’s voice was back.  
  
“Okay, I’m outside now. Talk to me, what’s wrong?”  
  
There was a slight ringing in Alex’ ears that briefly reminded him of the flat line on an EKG. He shook his head; the sound stayed. “I, uh…” He swallowed dryly and looked up, meeting his widened doe eyes in the mirror. _Alexander, you look just like your father. Only your eyes, they’re- My mother’s eyes, I know.  
_  
“Alex?”  
  
He took a shaky breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong, okay, but something is, John, _something_ -“ He stumbled over his own plump words; made a frustrated sound and let his eyes slip shut as he listened to John telling him that whatever it was, it was going to be okay, and that he was here, and that Alex should just try to breathe calmly.  
  
And Alex wanted to scream at him that it was not going to be okay.  
  
Because it wasn’t. Not this time.  
  
The frustrating or terrifying thing about all of this was not how things weren’t going to be alright; it was how he couldn’t do anything. Alex was always the one person who didn’t find themselves outsmarted by a situation at some point; he was never out of options. He fought with thoughts, then with words, and if that didn’t help, he kicked and screamed and bit and punched, but this battle was not one that could be fought.  
  
The act of losing someone was not a fight or a discussion with a teacher that you could somehow win. It was not the debate club full of heated discussion that you went to voluntarily to kick ass, it was the boring lecture on the hot afternoon that nobody wanted to attend but couldn’t afford to miss if they didn’t want to fail their end-terms. It was something you had to endure and watch and somehow survive.  
  
This helplessness was what Alex couldn’t cope with. This pointless waiting for something horrible and inevitable to finally happen was what he couldn’t cope with.  
  
He listened to John’s soothing, deeply worried voice and waited for his heartbeat to calm down again, and when it had at some point, caused by the soft whirr of his phone and the softer hum of John’s voice and the crushing, numbing realization that it was no use making a fuss about what was going to happen anyway, he simply kept listening to John, who was now talking in Spanish, sweet nothings twisted by the phone, and Alex lost himself in thoughts of inevitable I-am- _so_ -human-I-can’t-help-but-hope-maybes.  
  
He wanted things to be alright so badly that he ended up ending their call a while late with a “Thank you. Yeah… yeah, maybe it’s going to be okay. Yeah, you too. Bye.”  
  
  
NOBODY SEEMED PARTICULARLY SURPRISED when Adams didn’t return to the hospital on Friday.  
  
The receptionist told Alex that he had stretched his furlough until Sunday. When he shouted at Burr, asking the nurse what the hell Adams though he was doing, Burr shrugged, sadly and tiredly and told Alex that he had not expected him to come, anyway. And in that moment, he looked so incredibly disappointed and exhausted, that Alex decided to leave him alone.  
  
The loneliness caused by how he seemed to be the only person who was upset about Adam’s treatment – or rather, lack of – in which he hoarded his anger didn’t help in any way, though; it only added to the grudges he didn’t talk about to anyone, not even John.  
  
The way he was stowing his anger, almost saving it in a way as he clung on to the raging hurricane inside him that was begging for a release; something to channel all that energy into, some turning point, something pulling some sort of trigger.  
  
That opportunity came in the late Sunday afternoon, when Alex came into the hospital with that usual, sick, boiling feeling in his stomach and found the door to Rachel’s room open and a familiar, unpleasant voice coming from inside.  
  
The second Alex heard Adam’s voice, he felt his hands clenching into fists at his side and his feet speeding up on the linoleum of the hallway’s floor. He chased down the corridor, adrenaline shooting through him as he burst into the room and pointed his finger at Adams, who was standing by Rachel’s bed with a folder in his hands and smiling down at her widely.  
  
“ _You._ ” Alex hissed.  
  
Rachel’s eyes widened when she spotted him, and Adams turned around, trying for a smile but startling when Alex stormed towards him and poked his index finger into his boney, white-coated chest.  
  
“Where the _fuck_ were you?” he continued, his eyes narrowed as something ripped at his insides, ready to burst out. His voice was deep and shaking with rage, mistrust and revulsion dripping from it like honey.  
  
Adams looked at him for a second, a little caught off-guard by his tone. He blinked, and smiled nervously down at Alex. “I- I was in Massachusetts, visiting friends. How nice of you to ask, although I must ask you to calm down a little. We don’t want anything bad to happen, do we?”  
  
Alex gaped at him, speechless. _Does he honestly think I meant it like that?_  
  
Without conscious though, he grabbed the doctor’s wrist when the man attempted to turn towards Rachel again. He spun him around, forcing him to look at him and causing the doctor to flinch slightly in pain when Alex didn’t loosen his grip on his wrist. He heard Rachel saying his name in her wavy, sick voice, but ignored her apprehensive expression in the corner of his eye.  
  
“Do you honestly think I care about you visiting your friends? Do you honestly think that after two weeks, _two weeks_ , I give a shit about your personal life- not that I did before? You have a goddamn problem.” Adams wrenched out of his grasp and took a step back, fighting for a composed expression. “I- please sit down, Alexander. I get that you are angry, but I’m sure it’s not worth it-“  
  
Alex let out a dry laugh and eyed the man before him with disgust. “No, _you_ sit down, John, you fat motherfucker. I’m not even close to being done with you.” Adams faltered at the insult and clenched the hand Alex had been holding on to into a fist, looking down at Alex in a way that made Alex less sure of himself for only a moment.  
  
“Alexander, I am slow to anger, but I toe the line.” He snarled, and Alex almost had to hold back a laugh at this; he felt slightly triumphant when he noticed the slight hitch in Adams’ voice, the way a vivid blush was rising to his neck and his voice lifting ever so slightly as he attempted to stare Alex down.  
  
Now this, _this_ was something familiar, this was something Alex could work with.  
  
He could work with provocation, he could work with the other person getting flustered, he could work with the blood boiling beneath his skin and the adrenaline of seeing another person flinch when he raised his voice to spit his anger at them. The way Adams was trying to preserve himself the advantage of being the reasoning adult who was being yelled at by a kid made him want to punch the guy in the face, though, and the fact that it was so easy for Adams to make him lose his temper made him even more frustrated.  
  
“I’d rather skip the pleasantries, Adams. I don’t see a reason I should be nice to you, anyway, with everything you’ve done, you jackass.” Alex hissed, his hands clenching into fists again.  
  
“Stop, please. I don’t want you to fight. Alex? Please.” Rachel’s voice cut through the tense silence between Adams and Alex softly, but even though the sad tone of her voice made Alex falter for a second, they both ignored her.  
  
“I do not intend to fight with you, but I see myself left without any other option than to have you escorted out of this hospital if you don’t manage to control that _temper_ of yours around my patient.“ Adams bit, craning his neck probably without conscious thought to stand even taller and looking down at Alex, who was still processing what the doctor had just said, his lips parted with an incredulous expression on his face.  
  
"’ _Your patient’_? Show some fucking heart! That is my mother who’s lying there, whose state you have been ignoring for two goddamn weeks because you are unable or not willing to take some responsibility. What you’re doing here is not a treatment, or recklessness, it’s pure fucking ignorance! This is ridiculous!" Alex threw his hands up in the air and took a step back, walking a tight circle and throwing Adams a death-stare when the other man responded.  
  
"Alex, please try to calm yourself!" he said, voice hitching excitedly, causing Alex to let out a huffed gasp.  
  
"I'm supposed to calm myself?! You are leaving my mother to die!" He was screaming at him now, and Adams, honestly, looked terrified. _Good. Give him what he deserves._  
  
"George might not have used some fancy modern drug from DC, but he would have helped her, he would have talked to her and been there for her and done his best to at least weaken her symptoms!" Alex continued, and took a deep breath before running his hand through his hair and raising his voice again. "But you, you’re just letting her die, like she’s just another one who bites the dust, some living corpse that you get paid for. You’re _fucking disgusting_!" he bit, watched Adams blink and swallow hard and caught a glimpse of Rachel covering her mouth with her hand, her hooded, watery eyes glued to the side of his face from the corner of his eye. He felt himself hesitating.  
  
This was not what he'd wanted to accomplish. He hadn't meant to make Rachel sad, and now that he saw that he had, he realized what position him yelling at Adams was putting her into.  
  
If he now ruined any chance they still had at getting a proper treatment for her because of his immaturity and pettiness, wouldn't he sentence her to death with that? On the other hand, was his argument petty? Adams had, after all, been gone for an entire week, neglecting Rachel and her condition all the way for the entirety of his leave.  
  
"Alexander, I swear to you that I am just trying to help your mother. I understand that you’re angry, but that won’t help her either. I’m doing everything I can-" With Adam's cool, nervous voice, Alex returned to reality, and, his heart dropping at the man's words, immediately threw all his restraint out of the window. He tossed his hands up in the air and huffed a bitter laugh.  
  
"Oh, for fuck’ sake, Adams. You’re literally doing nothing at all!" Alex yelled. He watched Adams flinch away from the volume of his voice and bump into the edge of the table with his hip. His pale, jolting right hand reached to grab the edge as he stared at Alex, his mouth falling open as he searched for words with his eyes widened. "A- uh, a new drug just came in that might-"  
  
Alex interrupted his stammering with a scoff. "Oh my fucking god, are you for real? Another drug? Do you even realize how idiotic that sounds to me? You’re not going to test any more of your dubious drugs on her, no fucking way!"  
  
The doctor licked his lips and loosened his grip on the desk's edge, clenching it around the folder in his left hand and holding it out to Alex. "Look, I realize I made a mistake, but this time I’m sure it’ll help her!" he screeched, his breathing labored as he ran his hand through his slightly greasy hair, nervously glancing around himself.  
  
Alex glared at the man, gritting his teeth and plucking up all the willpower of every cell in his body to not surge forward and punch Adams' ridiculously anxious expression off his stupid face. He breathed deeply and strode across the room, coming to a halt an arm's length from the taller man. He craned his neck to look up at him, his eyes narrowed as he eyed the beads of sweat forming on the man's forehead and his quivering lips.  
  
_Coward. He's such a false coward._  
  
Alex licked his lips, thinking about his words thoroughly before her lifted his head to look Adams straight in the face.  
  
"I’m leaving. And I am going to make damn sure you are soon leaving too, Adams, you racist, incompetent, ignorant fuck. You are _so_ full of shit." Alex said lowly, making sure Adams understood that he meant what he said before he grabbed his backpack from where he'd dropped it to the floor by the door. In a few strides, he was out of the room and pacing down the corridor. He didn't look back even once, so he didn't see Adams staring after him, incredulous, and he also didn’t see Rachel crying into her hands softly.  
  
  
JOHN WAS IN THE LIVING ROOM with a bowl of leftover pasta with olives and tomatoes and a bottle of orange juice in his lap, big-eyedly watching a documentary about sea turtles in the West Indies when he heard the sound of someone unlocking the front door. He recognized the jingle of Alex’ keys and, judging by the heaviness of his boyfriend’s footsteps, knew immediately that something was off.  
  
Not that that was ever any different, though, if John was being honest; whenever he saw Alex – rarely, these days – he was restless and annoyed, or sleepy, or crying. John understood that what he was going through were incredibly rough times, but he sometimes found himself craving just a tiny smile from Alex, anyway. He didn’t usually ask for anything in return for what he gave, but he wished so badly to just see Alex smile, for once, or hear him laugh, or moan from something that was not sadness.  
  
When they were together, Alex was usually too exhausted to do anything; he would come home from the hospital sad and tired, and John would ask how he was, and he would say he was well, and then John would tuck him into their bed and spend his evening with Peggy, Laf and Herc watching movies, playing board games that were super boring without Alex or just talking in the living room to not wake Alex.  
  
The two of them rarely talked, they rarely kissed, and Alex rarely smiled, and John’s worry was relentlessly growing.  
  
He didn’t mind this shift in their relationship; he was there to take care of Alex and he, surprising even himself, was incredibly patient while doing so. Part of him, a part he managed to silence pretty well in shame whenever it spoke up just wished for things to go back to normal; wished for Rachel to finally go so Alex could be happy again. That was all he wanted, after all; for Alex to be happy. To see him smile, just a little.  
That part of him knew Alex’ happiness wasn’t possibly going to return anytime soon considering the state Rachel was in and how much Alex loved her; but the rest of him knew how to deal with the fact that Alex wasn’t happy, and how important it was in times like these to show him that he was here and not leaving.  
  
By the time the door was thrown shut soundly, John was already on his feet and walking down the hallway to the hall, where he found Alex fighting with the laces of his worn black Converse, letting out angry muffled noises along the way as he ripped at the white laces. The skin of his face was reddened and had that slight post-crying glow about it; stray strands had fallen from his bun and were in his face; he kept pushing them away.  
  
John came to a halt a few feet from him, a little unsure what to do. He stood there, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and watching Alex warily until his boyfriend let out a sharp sigh, kicked off his shoe and threw it in the general direction of the shoe shelf where it hit one of John’s Doc Martens and knocked it over. He straightened, pushed hair out of his face with a sniffle and glared at John. “What?” he bit, voice hoarse, and wiped his eyes with the cuff of his hoodie before looking back at John defiantly.  
  
John shrugged and took a step towards him, pressing his hand to the side of Alex’ neck and pulling him into a gentle kiss. Alex’ mouth taste like salt and bitterness, and he didn’t kiss John back as eagerly as he usually did; in fact, he tensed slightly beneath his touch and was the first to pull away, fixing his eyes on his toes. When they parted, John shrugged again. His hand was still on Alex’ neck, and he could feel his pulse racing beneath his warm skin, if from their kiss, or from something else, John couldn’t tell.  
  
“You’re angry.” John muttered, backing away from Alex a little. He leaned against the wall; Alex avoided looking at him, and instead bent over again to take his other shoe off.  
  
“If you say so.” he snarled. John blinked, startling slightly at his tone; had _he_ done something wrong? Was it his fault that Alex was in this mood?  
  
He quickly chased the thought away and looked at Alex closely; the dark bags beneath his eyes and the little bit of snot at the bottom of his nose- he had been crying a lot, probably on the way here. John’s heart clenched into a fist at the thought of Alex stumbling down a sidewalk in tears, at the fact that he hadn’t been there to hand him one tissue after another like they did when Alex was crying at 4am.  
  
“Wanna tell me why?” he asked quietly, already knowing Alex wouldn’t want to tell him why; he never wanted to. Every conversation they had was John talking to a wall of silence used as a coping mechanism – not that it was any different when Alex in return asked him if he was okay.  
  
This was why Alex took John by surprise, making him flinch when he threw down his backpack soundly and kicked the cardboard box with the scarfs and jackets with something that sounded somewhat like a roar.  
  
“He’s letting her die! He’s letting her die like an animal, he’s _so_ disgusting!” he screamed hoarsely, his voice trembling. “I hate him! I hate him _so much_ , John! It’s not right, none of this is right, he’s such a piece of shit, he’s not doing anything! _He’s not doing shit_!” With his last sentence, he kicked his backpack, sending it flying with a crash against the wall to their room.  
  
Alex ran his hands through his inky hair and looked around with red rimmed eyes, his face twisted by every sob that was getting past his lips. John was at a loss of words; he was still by the wall, trying to catch his breath and to retrieve his mind from the places Alex screaming and kicking things had sent it, but then Alex lifted his voice again, choking on his words as he sobbed dryly.  
  
“She doesn’t deserve to go like this, John, you know this! She doesn’t-“ His words ended with a whimper and his knees giving in.  
  
He slumped down to the floor in the semi-dark hall, the light of the setting sun spilling in through the cracked door to their room, painting him pale orange as he buried his face in his hands. John was by him in a split second, dropping to his knees next to him and winding his arms around him to pull him close. Alex tried to wrench out of his embrace at first, sobbing violently and pushing John’s hands away, but John shushed him and rocked their bodies and pressed nuzzling kisses to Alex’ temple and cheek and hair until the other boy gave in, sinking against his chest. John felt his boyfriend’s small hands clamping around the back of his light blue t-shirt and shushed him, pulling the elastic out of his boyfriend’s hair to card his hand through it, rubbing his other over Alex shaking shoulders in tandem, but they wouldn’t stop shaking.  
  
Alex managed incoherent pieces of sentences about what an asshole Adams was and John held on to him, shushing him, his jaw resting on top of Alex’ head. While Alex cried into his t-shirt, John looked at the grey wall opposite of them, listened to Alex crying and though it might be one of the saddest things he’d ever heard; maybe it was because when Alex was happy, he was like the fucking sun, and therefore when he wasn’t, it seemed even darker; when things were good, they were amazing, but that was also the reason they were so bad when they weren’t.  
  
After a while that felt like hours, Alex detached his damp-skinned face from John’s chest with a wet gasp, looking down at his knees and sniffling. His hair was sweaty and plastered to his forehead; he wiped at his swollen, red-rimmed eyes with his sleeve before looking up and meeting John’s gaze.  
  
“You don’t have to do this.” He breathed brokenly after a second. John lifted his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Alex shrugged, his lower lip starting to quiver again. “Like, you don’t have to… put up with my shit. It must be such a fucking bummer for you to have to be there for me all the time. I mean, I know I’m- I’m a little- _very_ out of it lately, and that you do your best to not get annoyed, and you’re a saint and I love you so much and I don’t deserve you, but you must be tired of constantly having to puzzle me back together every fucking night by now… aren’t you?”  
  
He looked up at John through wet lashes with his eyes big and brown and sad, and John, shaking his head with an incredulous expression, huffed a laugh and put his arms back around Alex’ shoulders, caging him in his arms once more and kissing his temple gently.  
  
Alex’ arms curled around him hesitatingly but tightly, and John breathed in his scent of coffee and their shower gel and a bit of sweat, and kissed his temple once more, closing his eyes.  
  
“I’m not tired of you, Alex. I could never be. How can you even believe such a thing?” he whispered, and Alex let out a stifled sigh, relaxing into his touch.  
  
“I just know I am tired of it. I just want this to be over.” He whispered, his voice hushed as if he was afraid someone other than John could hear him and think he was wishing death to his mother; he nestled further into John’s neck and breathed out deeply, hot, damp air caressing John’s skin. He shuddered, tightened his grip on Alex’ small body and kissed his temple again.  
  
“I know.” He muttered, and hesitated for a second, carding his hand through Alex’ loose hair. “If there’s anything I can do-“ he left off in the middle of his sentence when Alex sat back on his heels, abruptly pulling away.  
  
[*] “There is something.” He said quietly, and then he was surging forward, gripping John’s face with his hands hard and pressing his lips to John’s. John gasped in surprise, his hands on Alex’ waist, allowing Alex to slip his tongue into his mouth and suck at his lower lip fiercely , then descending to his throat and leaving small bites and kisses there. John chuckled, a little uncomfortable; he was caught off-guard by this mood shift in their shared proximity, and pushed Alex away gently, holding him an arm’s length from him.  
  
“Alex, what…” he breathed, and Alex opened his eyes, to stare at John. His pupils were dilated, and he was scratching at skin of his neck gently, desperately trying to pull John back in.  
  
“Touch me, John… please, don’t stop.” He slurred and flung himself forward again, kissing John’s jaw and lips and throat hotly and openly, his warm breath and the touch of his roaming hands making John’s head swim. He swallowed, watching as Alex broke away for air for a moment, pushing his hair away from his forehead.  
  
“Alex, I don‘t think we should- are you sure this is what you- right now-“ Alex nodded quickly and pressed another breathy kiss to his mouth, shutting him up.  
  
“Shh. _Oh_ , John. John. Please. I need some distraction right now, okay?” He carded a hand through John’s curls and slowly climbed into John’s lap, slotting their mouths back together. John involuntarily ran his hands up Alex’ sides, suppressing a moan and trying to not kiss Alex back. They shouldn’t do this; their roommates could come home any moment, and Alex was not thinking straight, and he’d just been crying, and-  
  
As if he’d heard John think, Alex broke away just an inch and looked at John pleadingly, his lips parted and his eyes big and glossy. He brushed his fingers over John’s cheek and eyed him, swallowing. “John. _Please_.” He managed, and then he was kissing his throat again, and John felt his mouth fall wide open while his hands came up to rake his fingers through Alex’ messy hair.  
  
He suppressed a moan as Alex came to straddle him, buried his hands in his curls and tugged at them softly. He kissed John’s lips bruisingly, his left hand grabbing John’s shaking one and pushing it beneath his own t-shirt.  
  
John’s hand twitched when he felt Alex’ soft skin beneath his fingertips; smooth and familiar and delicately heated, smelling like sweat and vanilla. He let out a shuddering breath, Alex’ name slipping out along with it when Alex ground down on him, his arms around his neck. He could feel himself getting lightheaded with desire and his restraint slipping through his fingers inch by inch with every movement of Alex’ body; his hands crept up Alex’ back on their own accord and pulled him tighter against his chest, and Alex gasped softly.  
  
He pressed himself closer and maneuvered his leg until they were resting on either side of John’s hips. He didn’t stop kissing him, though; they had been kissing for such a long time that John’s tongue felt a little numb, and he knew that if he said something now, he would only manage Alex’ name.  And when he rolled his hips against the heat of John’s own, John gave in; slung his arms tightly around Alex and stood shakily, picking him up. The other boy let out a stifled yelp and slung his legs around John’s waist, clinging on to him and letting himself be carried to their room and to their bed.  
  
They collapsed on the mattress together, a mess of limbs and hair, gasps, panting and open, swollen mouths, and while Alex impatiently pulled off his t-shirt to kiss down his chest, John looked at the ceiling and realized another thing about his Alex, something that terrified him slightly but that also left him desperately breathless in awe about this boy that he’d somehow ended up with.  
  
John couldn’t say no to him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first off, anything I know about cancer is from research, not from first-/second hand experience. I'm sorry if I got a lot of things wrong, please correct me if you spot anything disrespectful or biologically/medically unrealistic. Comments really help me keep going in general, too.
> 
> And this is unbeta'd. I don't even know.  
> See you on Wednesday loves!
> 
> Ps we're closing in on that Major Character death you might wanna leave this boat while it's not too late haha (pls don't leave me this is all I've got) c':
> 
> U P D A T E  
> Sooo I guess I should apologize for the delay? I'm super busy at the moment, and this was, in fact only supoosed to be like a 2k addition, but then the word count was suddenly at 16 FUCKING THOUSAND WHICH IS THREE TIMES AS MUCH AS IN THE BEGINNING WTAF MARLENE YOU WRITE TOO MUCH  
> Buuut anyway, I'm sorry for being so late. I hope y'all forgive me.
> 
> The next chapter, which is actually due next Monday, is probably going to be a lil late as well, sorry. A lot is happening.  
> I'll see you guys soon! Hugs and apologies for all the sadness there's more to come, just you wait ahahaha!


	14. Moments that the words don't reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK  
> I TRIED SO HARD TO BE ON TIME  
> AND NOW I'M ONE HOUR LATE bc it's 1am and I really wanna sleep
> 
> I literally wrote this in two days so you might wanna forgive me for poor writing, I'll probably make some minor changes about this whole thing in the next couple of days but I just wanted it to be up for now u know.   
> TW: someone dies in this chapter!! and everyone is sad, including me (I cried a lot while writing *those scenes*, so y'all are not alone.)  
> I hope you stick with me through all the sadness yet to come? Feel free to yell at me on tumblr: nordpolkind.tumblr.com and in the comments, of course.
> 
> I hope you enjoy?

  
  
**"Can I have a word, Sir?"  
**  
Adams looked up from his desk when he heard Aaron’s voice and met the nurse’s bitter look, blinked and looked back down at the folder in front of him.  
  
“Didn't I tell you not to come into my office, Burr?" The man muttered with an annoyed sigh, licking his index finger to flip the page in the folder.   
  
Burr heard himself scoff; it wasn’t like he wanted to be in the doctor’s office, but someone had to talk to the guy at some point.   
  
After his fight with Alex, Adams hadn’t set foot into Rachel’s room anymore, completely neglecting his responsibility for the fact that her influenza was getting worse, her fever having risen at least half a degree every time Burr checked.   
  
After almost a week of being struck down with the flu, Rachel hadn’t been able to leave her bed anymore, but Alex was here every day, coming with flowers early in the morning and leaving with tears in his eyes late in the evening. Rachel was asleep most of the time when Alex was here; Burr told him quietly that she would sleep a lot from now on as they stood by the door one morning. Alex swallowed and asked quietly if this was it, and when Aaron nodded, he wanted to know what she would die of. Burr shrugged and laboriously managed to tell him that it was probably just her body finally giving in to its own weakness; that the exhaustion from all the fighting would at some point simply get the better of her.  
  
Rachel’s silence left Alex alone with the numbing, deafening silence of the hospital room to fill with his own words. He tended to sit by her bed, either speaking quietly, reading or singing to his sleeping mother.  
  
Or he was quiet, too; he would have some book or his work on his laptop balanced in his lap, either reading to her or staring at the pages absently – Burr never saw him flip a page, though, so he figured the poor boy wasn’t actually reading but literally just staring at the book while his mother lay in her bed motionless and breathing shallowly next to him, small and pale and asleep.   
Whenever Aaron stopped by to check on Rachel, he would either startle Alexander by making too loud sounds and watch him jump and accidentally drop something, or Alex wouldn’t notice him at all; it almost seemed like he was turning into a painting, always motionless, his eyes wide and sad and absent.   
  
It made Aaron’s heart ache to see them this way; maybe he’d grown fonder of the two Hamiltons than he wanted to admit, after all. In his defense, it was almost impossible to dislike Alex since he was a part of his every-day life; the boy was charming and charismatic and funny and smart and adorably infatuated with his mother, and it was, simply put, absolutely impossible to dislike Rachel. They were some of the kindest and most wonderful people Aaron had ever had the privilege of knowing, and it broke Aaron’s heart to see Alex this sad and Rachel this ill. But what made him the angriest about the entire situation was probably that Adams didn’t seem to care about them at all.   
  
When George had still been around, Aaron had known how much he cared about Rachel as well as Alex. He worried about them, he treated them with kindness and care and he wanted them to be okay just as much as Aaron did himself.  
  
It was entirely different with Adams.  
  
Even before the fight, every time Aaron asked the doctor about Rachel’s treatment and where they wanted to go with it, he blinked and frowned at him, looking as if he was about to literally ask Aaron who “Rachel” even was. He was obviously not interested in curing her at all, maybe because she was a person of color, maybe because Adams was just an asshole, Burr didn’t know. But it made him so, so mad at the doctor and the ignorant management that had put him in charge of Rachel’s treatment that he had to hold back at least three inappropriate things he wanted to say to Adams that would get him fired in no time every time he saw the doctor’s face.   
  
Whenever Burr ran into him on the hallway now and tried to ask him if he was really not going to do anything at all to help Rachel, he either started fidgeting and murmured something incomprehensible about how he was still trying to come up with a solution for their dilemma, pretend to get an angry phone call, or ignore the nurse all together and just walk by without listening to him.   
  
So, he had decided he had to confront the doctor somewhere he couldn’t get away, and had stepped into his office without knocking this morning after his first routine check on Rachel.  
  
“It’ll only be a moment, John.” He insisted, closing the door behind himself.  
  
Adams sighed, sat up in his chair and lifted his head to look at Burr with his eyebrows lifted. There was a beat of silence in which Burr watched him, unsure if he was allowed to talk, and Adams waved a hand at him dismissively, rolling his eyes briefly.  
  
“Go on then?” he murmured, voice bored, and Burr nodded, mouthing an ‘oh, okay’ to himself before taking a breath.  
  
“This is about Rachel.” He said. Adams let out a sigh, leaned back in his chair and eyed Burr annoyedly.  
  
“Then I don’t see why there’s anything to talk about.” He snarled, and lifted a hand to point at Aaron and then at the door. Burr shook his head stubbornly, taking a step forward.  
  
“You can’t just _not treat her_. You’re her doctor; it’s your job to do something. If someone, let’s say, if someone up there in the management was to _somehow_ find out that you’re not doing anything for her, you could be fired, or even convicted of negligence resulting in injury or manslaughter, you know that, right? And stuff like that really doesn’t look too good on a future resume. _Sir_.” he said coolly, trying to even his voice out as it hitched slightly in his throat at the word ‘manslaughter’.  
  
Adams’ lips parted at his words, his mouth slowly pulling into an amazed, sly grin. “Are you… _threatening_ me?” he leaned back in his chair and eyed Aaron, chuckling lowly.  
  
“Is it working?” Burr retorted curtly, pushing his jaw forward and trying not to let show how fast his heart was beating. He clenched his shaky hands into fists behind his back, watching the doctor fidget with his pen and grin at him, frowning slightly as if he was trying to get his head around what Aaron wanted; as if that was so hard to understand. Aaron swallowed tightly.  
  
If Adams felt like it, he could literally fire him without a proper reason, he could simply fire him and he would be out of work in four weeks. Oh, what would Theo say?  
  
Adams crossed his legs and lifted his hands, pulling an impressed expression. “Well, Burr. Wow. Didn’t think you were the type, but apparently…” he drifted off and stood slowly, walking towards the window.  
  
He looked out, a mild, terrifying smile on his lips.   
  
“Do you have family, Burr?” he said slowly, voice dripping with some kind of smugness Burr didn’t recognize. For some reason, he nodded, swallowing. “I do. A wife and daughter.”  
  
The thought of the two made his heart clench into fist.   
  
He thought of his daughter’s smile when she waved at him out of the car as Theo was backing out of the driveway every morning to take her to kindergarten. He thought of the house that they were still paying off and the electrical bills that weren’t decreasing, either, and knew that they weren’t going to manage just with Theo’s job as arts, English and history teacher at Brooklyn High. He thought of his wonderful Theo and asked himself if she would relish being married to a poor man who was unable to provide for her life-  
  
And then he remembered that Alexander had lost _everything_. His father, his home- he couldn’t lose Rachel, too. Then there was George, and the faith the older man had in him. _I know you won’t get a different assignment, though, so, that’s something._ And Rachel, oh, where to begin; if there was one person on earth who didn’t deserved to die this way, it was her. _  
  
_ Aaron straightened his shoulders as he watched Adams’ tall silhouette stand by the window. He couldn’t just back out of this now. He had to do this, to clear his conscience, and for George, and Alex, and especially for Rachel _.  
  
Do it because someone has to do it, and this time, that someone is you._  
  
His hands were very cold, and Adams was turning around now, giving him a benevolent smile, walking back to the desk to lean his hip against the edge of it.  
  
“And you love them, I presume?” Adams looked at him trustily, making Burr want to throw up. “Of course, I do.” He bit, and the doctor smiled again, coming towards him. Burr noticed how he barely reached up to the other man’s chin; he felt tiny, and now Adams was placing his pale hands on his shoulders, making him twitch. He shrugged the man’s hands off, but he placed them back on his shoulders, firmer this time.   
  
“Let’s take a deep breath here, and stay calm, alright, Aaron?” he said, a sugary softness in his voice. He inhaled deeply, and Aaron didn’t; he just stared into the other man’s eyes calmly until Adams was the first to blink. He glanced sideways for a moment, then back at Aaron belittlingly.    
  
“So, what I’m thinking is, Aaron- you want your family to live a happy life, and you do not want them to live a _poor life_ just because you didn’t learn to shut up when the time is right, do you?” Adams looked at him, eyebrows lifted, and Aaron felt himself falter and sink beneath the weight of the doctor’s shoulders a little. When he didn’t respond, Adams raised his voice again.  
  
“Do you want that, Aaron? Do you want them blaming you for the rest of your life? That’s not something you want, is it?”  
  
Aaron was unable to move at first, the silence building in the office eating at his heart and resistance and bravery, and then shook his head slowly, looking at the tips of his shoes. “No.” he breathed, closing his eyes briefly and thinking about something Theo had once called him, years ago, in a fight they had had at a streetlight in the car on their way home from a visit to her parents. She was in the process of divorcing her first husband at the time, and he didn’t want to be introduced to said husband as her lover. She had apologized a thousand times after the word slipped out, and it was about the only disagreement they’d ever had, but he’d known she was right, and he hadn’t forgotten.  
  
_You’re a coward, Aaron. If you stand for nothing, what’ll you fall for?  
  
You’re a coward.  
  
Coward.  
  
_ “What was that, Aaron?” Adams’ voice cut through his thoughts, and he still didn’t look up, just repeated himself a little louder.  
  
“No, that’s not something I want.” He said, and Adams nodded with a satisfied smile. He squeezed Aaron’s shoulders, reminding him of a gesture his grandfather used to do if he broke something while playing football as a kid.  
  
“That’s what I thought. So, what was that about Rachel again?” he asked, voice velvety but sort of violent, a sound that made Aaron want to run and hide. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” He muttered brokenly, and finally, Adams let go of his shoulders, and Burr could breathe again. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he said loudly as he returned to his office chair, smiling at Aaron over his shoulder. The nurse shook his head, quiet and staring at his hands as if they weren’t part of his body.  
  
Adams cocked his eyebrows at him when he didn’t leave; he lifted his hands and dropped them again. “Is there anything else?” he asked irritatedly. Aaron shook his head; it was spinning. Had he done the right thing? He was being incredibly selfish, wasn’t he?   
  
_But my girls. I can’t let anything happen to them. This was right, wasn’t it?  
  
Then why am I feeling like I just made a huge mistake?  
_  
“Burr?”  
  
Aaron lifted his head to face Adams, who was already flipping through the folder again; it was as if Burr hadn’t even been there; like this hadn’t meant anything. “Sir?” he replied weakly. Adams didn’t even look up.  
  
“Close the door on your way out.”   
  
Burr gaped at the doctor for a second, then nodded, uttering a hushed “Of course” before stumbling out of the room, pulling the door shut behind himself.  
  
  
**The thing Eliza loved the most about always being the first one at the flower shop in the morning** was the silence; the lonely and calm feeling of being alone in the cold with the plants and their soft, green, watery smell, the slightly dew-damp glass windows and the coffee machine that was quietly cleaning itself. During the day, when her coworkers were here, there was always someone talking, someone singing quietly, or some customers. But since all her friends – those lazy dipshits – were never up this early, she was used to being the first one around.   
  
She would unlock the shop, usually humming some jazz song to herself that was stuck in her head that she would then put on speaker on her phone when she was inside; she would flick the lights and carry out shelves and flowers and then make herself a tea and prearrange a couple of bouquets for the day, and when she was done, she would pick a book from the café’s shelf and sit either on the counter or in the rising sunlight on the steps in front of the shop, waiting for the church bells somewhere down on Atlantic Avenue to ring eight times.  
  
Today, Eliza came at a little past 6am, quietly singing ‘ _I’ll be seeing you’_ by Billie Holiday under her breath as she opened up the shop with a soft smile on her lips; she left the door open and did her morning routine, carried things around and received the shop’s daily truckload of flowers, talking to the delivery girl from the greenhouse a bit – she knew all of the deliverers; today it was Anna, a short girl with rosy cheeks and chin-long, apricot-colored hair who regularly told Eliza stories about new cats from her boyfriend’s job at the animal shelter and always drove off with the greenhouse truck’s windows down and some Lorde song blasting from the radio.  
  
Afterwards, she went back inside and started arranging bouquets, now humming not Billie Holiday but Lorde; cars passed outside and the street grew busier, and Eliza caught bits and pieces of songs from passing car radios and conversations passing pedestrians had on their phones. She looked up from her flower-damp, arranging hands every now and then, having to push strands of hair back into her messy bun whenever she did.   
  
Eliza was caught up in a simple work of roses and baby’s breath when she suddenly heard the doorbell jingle and caught a glimpse of someone entering the shop from the corner of her eye. “Hey, sorry, we’re not actually open yet- “She started, looking up with a frown, but left off when she recognized the boy in the door as Alex. He was looking around himself like he’d never been here before, eyes a little absent, but it was him, and Eliza felt a warmth spreading in her chest at finally seeing him again.  
  
“Alex!” She greeted him with a wide smile, wiping her hands on her apron and rushing towards him, flying into his arms that he was spreading. She laughed, holding him close; it felt as if she hadn’t seen him in years although it had barely been a month since he’d been at work the last time. He returned her smile softly, slowly but definitely detaching her arms from his neck and taking a modest step back. She pretended not to notice the distance he kept as he buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans.  
  
“It’s good to see you, Lizzy.” He said, voice quiet but genuine.   
  
“You, too, Alex. It’s been a while. Are you here for work?” Looking at him attentively as he shook his head, explaining he was here to get a bouquet, she noticed how dark the usual bags beneath his eyes were, and how poorly trimmed his beard was. There was a small coffee stain on the hem of his grey t-shirt, and he looked nervous, a little twitchy as he looked around the shop. Eliza frowned slightly but smiled again when he looked back up at her. “Um, are you... can you make it yourself, or do you want me to…”  
  
He ran a hand through his hair and ummmed quietly, scratching at the tiles with the tip of his chuck. “I was actually thinking, just some sunflowers...” he murmured, and she nodded quickly, leaving an ‘Of course, hang on a sec.’ dancing behind her in the air as she shooed outside, kneeling on the pavement to fish three sunflowers out of the bucket she had placed in the bottom of the metal shelf earlier.   
  
A strand of hair fell into her face again, and she pushed it back, peeking around the edge of the shelf to look at Alex who had stayed in the shop.  
  
He was standing be the counter, fidgeting with his wallet and looking at his feet a little absently. Eliza pulled a face, thinking that he looked extremely sad, and wondered why. Maybe there was trouble with him and John, and this was an apology-bouquet? No, that couldn’t be it-  John’s favorite flowers were tulips, or gerberas or marguerites; hadn’t he said once that sunflowers were his mother’s favorite flowers?  
  
Eliza faltered, her hands freezing in the middle of pulling another sunflower out of the bucket. Was something wrong with Rachel?   
  
She stood abruptly, caging the sunflowers in her arms and hurrying inside, striding to the counter and smiling at Alex briefly before she started arranging the flowers. When she was done, she had to type the check twice to get it right; her head was swimming, and she felt a little numb while she stole glances at Alex’ slightly disheveled face as he pulled change out of his wallet, accidentally dropping it. It took a moment for him to look down at them, then he kneeled on the floor to pick the coins back up, smiling at Eliza a little apologetically before placing them on the counter laboriously.   
  
After she had stared at them for a second, small dots of silver on the white wood, she picked them up one by one and pushed them back into Alex’ palm, murmuring a ‘What the fuck, it’s on the house, you work here’ before taking a tight hold of his hands.  
  
“Alex- are they for Rachel?” she asked quietly. He blinked, as if he was returning from far away when he heard his mother’s name; he stared at Eliza for a second, then huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair again, and nodding briefly, staring down at their hands.  
  
“Is- is she okay?” Eliza managed, seeking for him to look at her. He didn’t, and he also didn’t reply, he just stared at the counter sadly and shook his head slowly, wrenching out of her grasp to wipe at his eyes quickly and grab the bouquet.  
  
“Thanks for the flowers, you’re the best, Lizzy. Take care.” He muttered, and then he was gone, storming out of the shop and down the sidewalk.  
  
Eliza abandoned the counter and hurried to the shop’s door, squinting against the rising sunlight to watch him cross the semi-busy street, already a block away. She followed him with her eyes until the sunlight became too bright to look at, and she blinked, sinking down on the step in front of the flower shop and looking at the sidewalk, chewing on her lower lip.   
  
Something was off, and it upset Eliza that she didn’t know Alex well enough to put her finger on what it was. It obviously had something to do with Rachel, but that thought only left Eliza even more worried.   
  
She’d met Alex’ mother before; he’d taken Peggy and her to meet her once, and she had been the most impressive woman Eliza had ever met; despite being an ill immigrant who had been left by the love of her life, she was quick, adaptable and gentle, energetic and beautiful. The way she hadn’t let herself be turned hard and bitter from the series of unfortunate events her life had been, but had stood up against the harshness some other people adapted after suffering too much attempting to conquer her heart was incredibly inspiring and made Eliza wish to be like Rachel when she was older.   
  
She let out a sigh. She would never understand why things happened the way they happened, who got to decide who was to live and who was to die. It all didn’t make any sense.   
  
Eliza was sure she could erase herself from the word’s narrative, and maybe people would mind, maybe they wouldn’t; she didn’t really care. The point was that she, an in her own opinion mediocre, slightly shallow and a little annoying girl, was healthy and in a long-term relationship with a person she truly and dearly loved; both her parents were alive and she had a steady job and friends and was generally very happy, but people like Rachel suffered from terminal illnesses.   
  
People who went through life with their eyes and hearts open for all the things and people around them, who loved and loved and loved and loved and never ceased to try to change things for the better, no matter how bad the place they were in physically and mentally was; those were people the world was in desperate need of.   
  
Eliza stood when she heard the church bell on Atlantic Avenue ring twice – it was half to seven – and went inside, not quite able to smooth out the worry between her own eyebrows.  
  
  
**When Peggy awoke early on a Tuesday morning, the sun was already out.** She wriggled her way out of the pile of arms and legs that was Herc’s, Laf’s and her bed, grabbed a pair of Laf’s sweatpants from the floor and put them on laboriously, tying her hair into a messy ponytail on her way to the kitchen. **  
  
** While the coffee machine whirred quietly, Peggy stood at the window, arms crossed as she was chewing on her yellow painted nails, staring out of the kitchen window and down at the already busy street. The bakery across the street was opening already; someone was putting out a sign that said something about how strawberry season was starting. Tiny white clouds were chasing each other across the sky, and Peggy asked herself if the sun was already out wherever Angelica and Eliza were right now.   
  
Eliza and Maria were probably still asleep, or maybe Maria was, and Lizzy was already on her way to the flower shop; Angelica was probably already having an overpriced breakfast with coffee in some coffee shop between their apartment and campus.  
  
She had moved in with Laf, Herc, John and Alex a while ago, and while it was nice, she really missed her sisters’ reassuring presence. She hadn’t ever really lived without them, and it made her sad to think they woke up somewhere she wasn’t there to make them all breakfast and get into petty fights with either Angelica or Maria about why they always took so long getting ready in the bathroom.   
  
The coffee machine beeping ripped her out of her thoughts; she abandoned them at the window and strolled over to the counter. When she grabbed the cup and sipped on it, holding it in between her cool fingers, she burned her tongue and swore quietly, put it down on the counter again and showed it her middle finger.  
  
Peggy left her coffee on the counter to get colder and padded down the hallway, past the cracked door to Laf’s room and into John’s and Alex’ room, yawning without bothering to cover her mouth with her hand.  
  
She opened the door quietly and leaned on to the doorframe, looking at the bed and frowning when she saw Alex’ blanket neatly folded and him gone; John was alone in the bed, hugging Alex’ pillow tightly, half his face covered in his loose curls. She smiled fondly and sing-songed his name quietly, shuffling into the room and kneeling at the bottom end of the mattress to poke his ankle.   
  
He flinched away from her cool fingers and hid his feet beneath the blanket, letting out a tired sigh and rolling over to Alex’ side of the bed, his eyes flying open when he found it empty.   
“There, there, he’s awake.” She muttered quietly, giggling, and he sat up laboriously, running his hands through his heavy curls and pushing them back. He eyed Alex’ folded blanket and muttered something along the lines of ‘Eat me, Peggy.’ Before grabbing his phone out of the bookshelf and checking his messages with a frown.   
  
Peggy watched him, her chin in her hands. “Where is he?” she asked quietly after a moment, and John sighed, locking his phone again and tying his hair up with a hair tie from his wrist.  
  
“The hospital, I guess. Didn’t leave a message. But he’s kind of always at the hospital, so.” He muttered sleepily, dropping himself back into the pillow and hugging his boyfriend’s green one close to his chest.  
  
Peggy looked at him for a moment, then sat down on the edge of the bed, watching him breathe with his eyes closed.  
  
“You miss him, don’t you?” she asked, and he sighed again, his eyelids fluttering briefly.  
  
“I don’t know. I mean, I do, of course I do. But I get why he isn’t here as often as he used to, with…everything that’s going on.” He nestled further into Alex’ pillow, eyes open but hooded. Peggy lifted her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear and eyed the side of his face.  
  
“I’m pretty uninformed, to be honest. What- what is going on with his mother? I mean, she has leukemia, and the nice doctor left, that much I remember, but- there has to be more than that if he, of all people gets up and leaves this fucking early. I mean, it’s not even 7. What’s up with that.” They both laughed halfheartedly, and John sat up again.  
  
“She got the flu. Which sounds very undramatic without context. Like, the new doctor gave her some experimental meds, and now her immune system is practically nonexistent, so her body can’t fight the virus. So. That’s bad.” He said, his voice getting quieter with every word he said; he started fidgeting with the edge of his blanket and Peggy eyed him, unsure what to say for a while.   
  
After a moment of silence, she simply leaned in, kissing his cheek and nudging his shoulder softly. “Hey, Johnathan.” He gave her a death stare, which she ignored. “I know you probably don’t want to hear it right now, but- some things have to happen. Let them happen. It’s all going to be better soon, I promise.” She stood abruptly and held a hand out to him.  
  
“Come on. I made coffee and it’s waiting.” She said, trying to sound encouraging while all she was was worried about John and Alex and his mother and how things were going to turn out with them She was also continuously worried about how Laf and Herc and her were going to coexist, and she was worried about Maria and Lizzy and Angelica, and her own future – would she forever be a barista or would she somehow manage to go to college after all, and if she was going to ever be entirely happy, but all of the worries about herself and her future and love life was put into shadows by how much her heart wanted for Rachel, Alex and John and all her friends to be alright.  
  
Yes, Peggy was worried; but she still forced herself to smile at John as he took her hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet.  
  
“See? That wasn’t so hard. Let’s see if there’s any clothes to put on.” She said, tugging him towards the dresser.  
  
  
**“There he is.”** Peggy whispered into Laf’s ear, making him jump.  
  
It was half to 1pm, lunch break, the coffee shop was busy – managed by Peggy, Maria and Herc – and Laf, who contributed by “sitting at the counter and looking good“, in his own words – and when Laf frowned at his girlfriend who was behind the counter, handing a milkshake to a girl with thick eyeliner, she pointed a free finger subtly at John, who had just stepped into the shop, wearing a huge backpack and an exhausted expression.  
  
Laf stood from his place at the counter and waved at John across the shop; it took the other boy a moment to notice him, but when he did, he smiled a small smile and pushed his way through the crowded coffee shop to the counter.  
  
“Do I have to queue up to get a cup of black coffee for a devastated Alexander?” he said, putting the last two words into quotation marks with his hands.   
  
Peggy shook her head with a benevolent smile and gave Laf a look loaded with ‘ask him what the fuck is going on’ before disappearing in the direction of the coffee machine.   
  
John leaned against the counter with a quiet sigh, checking his phone and ignoring Laf’s sarcastic comment about the size of his backpack – something along the lines of ‘are you using that backpack to compensate for the size of your penis, Laurens?’.  
  
Laf couldn’t muster the energy to laugh about his own joke as he eyed the freckled side of his friend’s face that looked awfully pale. He knew he should ask what was going on, but whenever he did, he got the same answer; different variations of ‘I don’t fucking know, either, Laf.’ In an annoyed or tired or dry voice.  
  
When Peggy returned with John’s coffee, Laf still hadn’t said anything, and John was still texting an unknown number on his phone. Peggy craned her neck to get a look at his display as she pushed the cup into John’s waiting hand. “Who are you texting?”  
  
John flicked his eyes up at her from his phone for a second and let out another one of those weary sighs, brushing hair behind his ear. “Rachel’s nurse texted me and asked me to bring Alex some new clothes because apparently, he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday and the day before yesterday and the day before the day before yesterday, and apparently, he also fell asleep in Rachel’s room, and before he fell asleep, he refused to leave Rachel’s room to go eat lunch, even though he said he didn’t have breakfast. So- so I’m bringing him clothes and coffee and I think I also have a bagel or something in there.”   
  
John rubbed at his eyes and swallowed, dropped a ten on the counter and muttered “Keep the change”, and then he was pushing himself off the counter to leave again. Laf caught his sleeve before he could disappear into the crowd.  
  
“Mon cher, are you alright? You look horrible, don’t you want to stay for a minute?” he asked, looking at his friend with big eyes, who slowly shook his head.  
  
“No, sorry, guys. I gotta go.” He smiled briefly, and then he was gone.  
  
Laf and Peggy looked after him as he made his way back to the door and then down the sidewalk and across the street, and after a while, Peggy turned around again to take an order from a woman in an expensive-looking costume.  
  
Laf was still staring at the spot where John had disappeared in the bright, blustery New Yorker afternoon until Maria hit his arm with a teabag and told him to help. He stood slowly and walked around the counter, tying his hair back and taking Maria’s spot at the register.   
  
Because what else could he really do? Should he run after John to tell him it was all going to be okay? Should he sprint to the hospital and scream at whoever was responsible for Alex and Rachel suffering like this to fucking snap out of it?  
  
Lafayette realized that he would do that, if he could. But in the end, what was it going to do? It wasn’t going to stop Rachel from getting sicker and sicker and it was not going to stop Alex and John from being sad.  
  
So what could Laf really do but keep going with his life and wait for things to get better? There was nothing he could do, and while that helplessness was terrifying, he couldn’t change it either.   
  
Laf took a deep breath, looked up and smiled at the tall, blonde girl with the Linkin Park hoodie across the counter.  
  
“Hey. What can I do for you?” he grinned, and typed her order into the register because-  
  
_There’s nothing else I can do.  
  
_  
**When John came to the hospital,** he found Burr leaning against the frame of the open door to Rachel’s room. **  
  
** He walked up to the nurse from behind, greeting him quietly and leaning against the other side of the doorframe, following the nurse’s eyes. He sighed softly in relief when he saw Alex sitting in a chair by Rachel’s bed, holding her hand in his lap. Rachel was breathing shallowly, but she was breathing, in tandem with the beeping of the EKG.   
  
They had placed two machines in her room a while back; one was recording her heartbeat and blood pressure, the other one monitoring the nerves in her brain. Alex had told him about them, saying that the heartbeat one was continuously beeping, and while that was extremely annoying, it was also weirdly reassuring; it showed that despite looking small and quiet and always being asleep, she was alive. The machine was beeping now, too, reminding John of the movies, and it was enough to make him smile a little.   
  
Alex’ head had rolled on to his chest; he was sleeping, lips parted slightly, hair up in a mess of a bun and slumped in his chair. He looked horrible, disheveled and skinny and tired, but John still though Alex and Rachel sleeping in her hospital room, both equally exhausted but at least safe and alive and together was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He melted against the doorframe, glancing at Burr, who was eyeing him with a cocked eyebrow. He frowned at the nurse. “What?”  
  
Burr shifted, his shoulder still propped up against the doorframe and shrugged, eyeing him. “You look like shit. Have you ever heard of that magical thing called ‘sleep’? You’re just as bad at taking care of yourself as him, aren’t you?” he said dryly, an apprehensive tone shimmering below the surface as he pointed his thumb at the sleeping Alex in the room.  
  
“I _do_ sleep. I just don’t sleep very well because I can’t help but worry if my boyfriend isn’t home by nine, which is probably something you can understand, right?” He crossed his arms and looked back at Alex. He was, in fact, wearing the same clothes he’d worn two days ago, which was the last time John had seen him; he’d met him on his way to the bathroom in the morning when Alex was already fully dressed and on his way to the hospital. They had talked quietly, about when Alex was coming back – “I don’t know.” – and if John was supposed to come with him – “If you want to, but it’s not very eventful. She’s rarely awake anyway, so.”. In the end, he hadn’t joined Alex, simply because he wasn’t properly dressed yet; Alex had left without him.  
  
Now he wished to have come with him that day, only to make sure he returned in the evening. John shook his head softly, eyeing his boyfriend. Apparently, Rachel had been right about him not being able to take care of himself when she wasn’t there. _Alex, you stupid, stupid boy. Take some care of yourself, please._  
  
Burr shrugged, muttering “Whatever you say.” They both looked back at Rachel and Alex, going silent. “How are they?” John whispered after a while; Burr lifted his eyebrows with a quiet sigh, not looking at John.   
  
“Honestly, Laurens? Rachel is- well, she’s dying isn’t she. And Alex- I think he’s doing like shit. I don’t think you should wake him to yell at him for taking bad care of himself, though. Let him have his rest.” With that, the nurse pushed himself off the doorframe, nodding towards John’s backpack and the coffee he was still holding in his hands.  
  
“Did you bring him some stuff?” he asked, and John nodded, letting his backpack slide to the floor. He gave his quietly snoring boyfriend brief look. “I guess I’ll leave it here when I go.” He leaned back against the doorframe and looked at Burr. “How long has he been sleeping?”  
  
Burr shrugged. “Since I arrived. Must be like six, seven hours now.”  
  
Joh huffed quietly and buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. _At least he sleeps here._ He’d woken up tonight when Alex had tried to get himself a book without waking John, who slept between him and the shelf. There had been a shelf asleep conversation as to why the fuck Alex was awake, John whining for him to “come back to sleep” and Alex shushing him a lot, and then Alex had kissed him, shutting him up and brushing hair away from his forehead as he lay above him, smiling down at him. “Best of boyfriends, best of men.” He’d murmured, and then John had drifted off again, abandoning Alex with the book in the dark room.   
  
As if reading his thoughts, Aaron cocked an eyebrow at him. “Okay, just out of sheer interest; does he even sleep when he’s home? _Does_ he come home? Cause I get out of here at eight every day, and he's usually still here when I leave, so.”  
  
John blinked and looked at his boots; he shrugged quietly and didn’t quite know how to respond. Of course, Alex came home sometimes, but there were also nights when John awoke at 2am and Alex wasn’t there; John didn’t know if on those days, he stayed at the hospital or went back to his own apartment; in the evenings, he tried to stay awake to wait up for him but always fell asleep in the process.  
  
“Sometimes.” John murmured, unsure if what he was saying was true; the times he woke up in the night next to Alex could just as well be dreams or even hallucinations.  
  
Burr eyed him attentively as he stared at the floor, one of his hands mindlessly tugging at the cuff of his hoodie. The nurse let out a quiet sigh, glancing sideways for a second and then placing a hand on John’s upper arm, cursing him to look up abruptly.  
  
“John, you worry too much. Just relax. It’ll-“ he left off when his voice hitched in his throat, reaching up to wipe at his eyes quickly, smiling at the boy opposite of him halfheartedly. “It’ll all be over soon.” He added hesitatingly.   
  
John huffed a slightly incredulous laugh; Burr’s hand was still on his arm, and he didn’t know if it was nice of making him uncomfortable. He shook his head and lifted his hand, searching and failing to find words.  
  
“Is that going to make him feel any better, though?” he asked quietly and pulled away, padding into the room to the table. While he pulled a pair of jeans, boxers and turtle socks, a t-shirt and Alex’ favorite green hoodie out of the backpack and placed them on the table along with the slightly mushed bagel and the cup of coffee, he could feel Burr’s attentive eyes burning holes into his back as he watched him, lips parting every now and then as if he was trying to come up with what to say.  
  
John felt his brows furrow; he blinked the tears suddenly forming in his eyes away and looked down at the survival pack he’d made for a boyfriend he hadn’t seen in days. It made him feel somewhat pathetic; he didn’t know why it did, maybe because he missed Alex so much, even now when he was literally standing in the same room as him. It felt cliched to say it, but even though Alex was right here, he felt so far gone. John’s thoughts were interrupted by Burr’s voice coming from the door.  
  
“I'm so sorry that this is happening. If there was- if there _is_ anything I can do- “  
  
John turned around abruptly and tried for a smile at which he probably failed miserably. He pulled the backpack’s sipper shut and slung it over his shoulder again, straightening his ponytail a little.  
  
“It's fine.” He said, too fast to mean it and too hollow and rehearsed for Burr to believe it. The nurse cocked an eyebrow at him, but, bless God, didn’t try to interrupt him when he continued with a wide smile still plastered to his face – he’d heard that forcing yourself to smile helped against being depressed; John had never believed it, but somehow, he felt even the slightest bit more optimistic about what he was saying now.

“I'm sure he'll come home tonight, anyway, it's... it's our weekly Lord of the Rings night. And we're watching his favorite one tonight, The Two Towers. That's what we're watching... tonight. He’ll probably not miss that.” He said, voice growing quieter with every word as he was trying to convince more himself than Burr that Alex would come _.  
  
He will definitely be there, I’m sure. We’re ordering Indian tonight; Alex loves Indian. Indian and The Two Towers, he wouldn’t miss that. Would he?_   
  
“Can… can you tell him that we’re ordering Indian tonight when he wakes up? I- He’ll like that.” John was still smiling, and now Burr tried to return his smile; it was like they both knew there was nothing to smile about but staring at each other sadly was not an option they were willing to take, so they smiled instead; although John knew his smile was sad and could see that the nurse’s didn’t quite reach his eyes; it was flickering and absent, and John couldn’t tell if that wasn’t even more depressing than staring at each other sadly.  
  
“I’ll be sure to tell him.” Burr muttered, and John nodded, taking a breath and walking towards Burr and the door, glancing at Alex and Rachel one last time over his shoulder before he stepped into the hallway.  
  
The sight of them sleeping struck him as peaceful, making him feel slightly nostalgic, even. It was a fragile picture, granted, but as long as it lasted, it was peaceful and calm, and John just wanted to sit down in the chair next to Alex, curl up against his side and join him and Rachel in their small dreamland; he wished to fall asleep listening to Alex’ heartbeat and Rachel’s breathing and wouldn’t even mind that much if he wouldn’t awake anymore; at least that would mean being with the two of them forever.   
  
He was about to ask Burr if he could stay, but then his feet were betraying him, already backing away from the door, and there was his voice, shaky and quiet and tired, the way it always was these days; he was thanking him quietly and saying a sentence about Burr being the nicest nurse he’d ever met, and Burr was chuckling, genuinely and saying “See you around, Laurens.” And then disappearing in Rachel’s room again, leaving John alone in the shady corridor where his slightly labored breathing was the only sound and where he couldn’t really do anything but leave again.  
  
John turned on his heel, swaying slightly and felt some kind of light flicker out with every step he took in the direction of the elevator. He closed his eyes when he passed open doors to empty rooms – the patients belonging to them probably out in the garden, on appointments or simply already gone in one way or another – bright daylight falling on to the side of his face and his feet that he was staring at as he walked. He thought of the sea; the flower shop van and Alex driving massive detours, smiling into the light of the rising sun, and seagulls crying above his head as he ran, towards the sun and the first wave.   
  
How strange and bright and quiet the world was.   
  
John thought of Alex watching the sea from the blanket; he thought of Rachel’s fluttering summer dress. He kept walking.   
  
His steps stumbled.  
  
  
**When John was gone,** Aaron refilled the water in the vase of sunflowers Alex had brought Rachel this morning and flicking off the lights in the room. He hesitated a moment before turning the EKG off; he just wanted Alex and Rachel to be able to sleep in peace, but it felt somewhat like he was turning off Rachel’s heart along with the machine. He took a deep breath before hitting the switch and leaving the room in the usual, calm silence, only disrupted by their quiet breathing as he closed the door gently and left the two sleeping Hamiltons behind. He walked down the corridor deep in thought about nothing in particular and got into the elevator, going downstairs and to the cafeteria.  
  
He got a croissant and a cup of black coffee and sat down at a window table in the almost empty cafeteria. He knew that most of his colleagues had lunch in places outside the hospital, but he couldn’t afford that with how busy his afternoon schedule was. He had to do routine checks on ten different patients on the cancer station and check a thousand different things, schedule doctor’s appointments and visitor lists and see that all the patients got their lunch; since Adams had already fired two of the other nurses on the cancer station, he had recently partly taken over some more patients, and just the thought of doing all of that, running around and seeing just how ill the people he took care of were, just how on the verge of death they were made him lose his appetite. He pushed the plate with the croissant away with a small, disgusted noise and had his black coffee, staring out of the window at the garden.   
  
There were small cherries glowing bright red in the tall green trees that reminded Burr of the fact that he had to cut the branches of the cherry tree in their back garden on the weekend. Maybe he could get Theodosia to help him a little; she would probably find that super exciting.   
  
He smiled to himself and winced at the bitter taste on his tongue when he took another sip of his coffee.   
  
He had been feeling horrible the entire day. Not only that Rachel’s state was eating away at him, no, he also had a slightly uncomfortable feeling lingering in his chest that constantly reminded him of his conversation with Adams this morning.  
  
Aaron had hoped his mind would push it away and have some coping mechanism for it, but it was still there, the doctor’s sly smile and the press of his heavy hands on his shoulders that wasn’t as terrifying as the way his words had somehow wormed their way into his brain, completely causing him to forget every good intention he had had.  
  
What would have happened if he hadn’t talked to the doctor first, hadn’t tried to fight him all by himself? What if he'd gone to the management without detours and simply told them that Adams was not taking care of his patient and therefor was unsuitable for being a doctor? Maybe everything would have been different.  
  
Aaron took another sip of his coffee frowning.  
  
The point was that even if he could convince the management that Adams was an ignorant asshat and who had also threatened to fire him without proper reason, even if they would dispose of him or even sue him, for Rachel, any help was too late now. There was nothing to be done, and Aaron knew that, but Adams oversaw a lot of patients; patients who were treated poorly and without skill or thought. The way Rachel was going to die was a way nobody else

Aaron knew that he could save a lot of lives if he succeeded.  
  
He wouldn’t be a coward this time. He would make it right.   
  
When he’d finished his coffee, Burr went back upstairs and asked the receptionist at the station to schedule him an appointment with Dr. Gates, his and Adams supervisor. Like Alex had said, Adams had to go, and Aaron was making sure that he did.  
  
Afterwards, he instructed the receptionist to order lunch for the patients and started his afternoon routine checks all around the station; he made sure everyone took their meds, helped people to the bathroom, made small talk with patients while taking their blood sample; he supervised two new patients moving in, a sixteen year old boy with sad, blue eyes and CML and a seventy-year-old lady with a bright smile and an aneurism. He scheduled Adams’ appointments for tomorrow and made his schedule extra busy to piss him off and did even more checks, finally going to Rachel’s room at 5pm.  
  
She was always the last patient he checked on, because he tended to get stuck in long conversations with either her or Alex and to not leave the room for at least half an hour. The last couple of weeks, these conversations hadn’t really been a thing since all of them were too tired for any kind of interaction, but Aaron was so used to it that he tended to still schedule his check on her late in the afternoon.  
  
He gently opened the door and waited a second before pushing it open, shooing into the orange, afternoon-sun lit room.   
  
Alex and Rachel were still sleeping, Alex gripping her hand loosely with both his own; he had still not changed into the clothes Laurens had brought earlier, so Aaron figured he hadn’t been awake since the last time he’d been here.  
  
He smiled a little fondly, a little sadly, shaking his head at the fact that the boy had been asleep for almost ten hours now.   
  
_The boy_. That was all Alex was, after all; a boy of barely nineteen and a half years who had grown up too fast to actually grow up.   
  
Aaron strolled to the EKG, absent-mindedly turning it back on without really listening to what sound it made or looking at what numbers it showed – they were always the same, anyway – and walked to the window, opening it gently to let some of the warm, soft air in.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the sunflowers by Rachel’s bed and was suddenly reminded of a Monday morning sometime in early March.   
  
_"Aaron Burr, Sir. How is she?"_   
  
It had been warm and bright in the room, golden morning sunlight spilling in and onto the linoleum floor through the halfway open window and the pulled-up blinds, tracing its fingertips over the furniture and turning everything into long silhouettes on the walls and floor.  
  
_"She's been asleep for half an hour. Asked for you. Are those for her?"  
  
_ Aaron remembered pointing his finger at the flowers in Alex’ arms that were wrapped in brown paper, and Alex placing them on the small table carefully, as if they were something he didn’t want to break.   
  
_"Yeah, I stumbled across this nice shop a couple of blocks back and thought I'd get her something.”_  
  
It was the first time Alex had brought Rachel flowers, and the thought of how Rachel, and Alex, too, used to be barely four months ago made Aaron swallow a little. The memory caused his soft smile to slowly disappear from his face; on a draft of warm pre-summer air, he tiptoed back to the bed.   
  
He gently untangled Rachel’s hand from Alexander’s, putting Alex’ hand into his lap where it rested, palm facing upwards and his fingers gripping the air on his palm loosely like a small child’s ones, waiting for something to be placed in them.  
  
Aaron leaned over Rachel and put his hand to her forehead, surprised to not find it burning up with fever; it was barely room temperature, cool even. With a frown, Aaron placed his other hand on his own forehead; it felt hot in comparison to the ice cold of hers. He felt his frown deepen as he pressed two fingers into Rachel’s pale, cold wrist and held his breath, waiting one, two, three, seven seconds for a pulse until he realized that-  
  
there was none.   
  
No beat, no melody; nothing except the EKG’s monotonous flatline that he now finally noticed, thinking how foolish he was, how couldn’t he distinguish a flatline from the usual rhythmic beeping? He huffed, incredulous of himself, and supported himself on the bedframe when his knees weakened and his stomach dropped; he gently placed Rachel’s hand at her side and didn’t manage to press the back of his shaking hand to his mouth quick enough to hold back the soft sob escaping him.  
  
From the corner of his eye, he saw Alex moving in his sleep, eyelids fluttering a little.   
  
_Alex. Oh, God._   
  
Another dry sop came past Aaron’s lips, and he covered his mouth with his hand, walking to the other side of the bed shakily, to the monitor.   
  
Alex made a soft, sleepy sound behind him and Aaron shook his head, searching for the switch to turn off the machine with shaking fingers. He couldn’t find it, and realized there was something he’d forgotten to do.  
  
He stumbled back to the bottom end of the bed and grabbed the clipboard with Rachel’s patient description file on it, barely managing to pull his biro out of his chest pocket, read out the numbers on the monitor and the time on his watch. _5:26 pm._  
  
_Rachel Mary Faucette-Hamilton, chronic myeloid leukemia, diagnosed by Dr. Ernst Heering, St. Croix, August 20 th, 2010  
  
Time of death: June 27th 2017, 5:26pm_.  
  
Something wet dripped on to the back of Aaron’s hand, and it took him a moment to realize it was tears as he added the numbers from the monitor to their places on the clipboard.  
  
Alex shifted again behind him, saying his name quietly in a scruffy voice; apparently, he was awake, and he asked Aaron what was going on, voice sounding small. Aaron stared at the drop of salt water on the back of his hand that was jolting, gripping the clipboard hard. The EKG was still going.   
  
Alex was quiet behind him, and everything was falling over the world’s edge together with the sun, the sun that was setting, and Aaron heard Alex’ breathing, calm and steady, and when he glanced back, the boy was staring at the monitor, probably trying to figure out if the flatline was just something he was making up with a slight frown on his face, his lips parted.   
  
Aaron put the clipboard down on the bed beside Rachel’s feet and walked to the monitor; behind him, he heard the biro roll off the bed and fall to the floor with a quiet clatter. This time, he found the switch; his hands weren’t shaking so hard anymore, and he got the idea that maybe it was because now he was not the only person knowing about Rachel Hamilton’s death anymore; now, there was Alex, and Alex was still not moving, and staring at the monitor even when Aaron turned it off, pitching the room into silence. He reached for the call button, knowing someone would come.  
  
He looked at Alex and wanted to say something; that he was sorry, or that he was here, or anything, but he _couldn’t_ ; he wished George was here, because if George was here, he would know what to say, and George would not be staring at Alex, and Rachel, and the beautiful sunflowers in the vase behind them, and cry and wait for something to happen.   
  
If George was standing here right now, maybe Rachel would be alive; and maybe Rachel would smile, and Alex wouldn’t be staring at nothing in particular, and the sound of the door opening wouldn’t be so horribly, deafeningly loud in the silence. And that would be enough.   
  
“Alex…” he managed but couldn’t say anything else when a doctor – not Adams, luckily – and two more nurses came in.  
  
Alex didn’t look up, even when the doctor asked Aaron what had happened, and he tried to explain but found himself unable to, simply pushing the clipboard into the man’s hands and covering his eyes with his hand. Alex was still not moving, staring at Rachel’s fingers that he had been holding when he’d fallen asleep, and her pale skin blending into the sheets when you closed your eyes a little and the sharp edges of bones sticking out underneath it.  
  
Aaron was ushered away and gently told to sit down by one of the other nurses – Van Ness was his name, Pete Van Ness, Aaron knew him; Pete was the only other nurse who smiled at others when they passed in the hallway – and did as he was told, sinking down in a chair by the wall. He watched the doctor check the clipboard once more and turn off the second machine, watched Van Ness roll Rachel to a more stable position. The other nurse slipped the IV out of her arm and removed the tape, and picked up Rachel’s blanket and pillow, taking it outside.   
  
When Aaron looked at Alex, he saw that he had started crying; tears silently running down his cheeks and disappearing at his jaw one after another, unstopped.  
  
The clock on the wall read 5:30 by now.  
  
Rachel Hamilton used to glow. She was the sun, and the wind, and now that she wasn’t there anymore, there was nothing but the silence; the deafening sound of the calm after the storm.  
  
Van Ness unfolded a clean white sheet from the shelf and began draping it over Rachel.  
  
  
**“So they honestly want the peonies next to the roses? That’s pink next to white and red. Are they insane?”** John looked up from the table plan, cocking an eyebrow at Eliza when she shrugged, reaching behind him through the open car door into the van to grab the bottle of water lying in the driver’s seat and take a big gulp.  
It was a little past 5pm and they were somewhere in an old, small hotel uptown, delivering flowers to the wedding party of a newlywed Mr. and Mrs. Watson.  
  
“They look pretty crazy. Did you see the best man? He looks like Benedict Cumberbatch or something.” She subtly pointed her blue-nailed index finger at a tall man with dark curls in suit pants and shirt and grabbed the plan from his hands, folding it up and shoving it into the back pocket of her jeans.  
  
“I say we put those peonies in their horribly color-matched place so we can get the hell out of here.” She said dryly, and he nodded, standing and jumping out of the van.  
  
They started carrying buckets from the parking lot up a gravel road through a park to the wide, pale yellow one-story building with the big single glass windows all open and a collection of round, white tables on the terrace in front of the back entrance.   
  
They were joined by the bridesmaids, a handful of pretty, end-twenty girls in pink dresses that helped them carry the flowers and place them on the tables and along the dancefloor. It all went pretty quickly and he left the last bucket to Eliza when his phone buzzed in his back pocket.   
  
He leaned against the side of the van and got it out of his pocket, brushing hair that was blown into his face by the vivid, warm wind out of his eyes to read the notification on his screen. The text was from Alex.  
  
The last time Alex and he had texted was almost a week ago; his boyfriend would either call or not do anything at all for a whole day, and John liked to pretend that he’d gotten used to it. He unlocked his phone.  
  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
She’s gone  
In her sleep  
  
There was quiet music playing up by the hotel, jazz, and John felt his breath hitch and die in his throat, his hands unconsciously gripping his phone a little tighter.  
  
_No_.  
  
He shook his head, mouth falling open, made a hoarse, breathy sound and ran a slightly shaky hand over the back of his neck. His chest felt tight.   
  
_No, no, that can’t be true. I was there just three hours ago, and she was alive. She was alive, what the fuck. This can’t be true._  
  
John looked up to the hotel, taking a shaky breath, hair blown away from his face. The song carried down to the parking lot by the wind had changed; it was something with piano and a soft voice now, and he realized that it was Eliza singing a Billie Holiday song; apparently, the bridesmaids had gotten her to sing for them, and he recognized it, and it made him want to cry.  
  
He checked the message again, and then again, and when the words didn’t change the fourth time he looked at them, he tapped his screen to reply, staring at the blinking cursor but didn’t know quite what to say.  
  
What would he say if he was there with Alex? Would he say that he was sorry, would he cry, or just hug him and try to get through to him through that somehow? Was he even crying? He probably was. Would John shush him and say that it was all going to be okay when even he knew that was a lie this time.  
  
**JLau**  
Alex  
**A-Dot-Ham**  
Please just   
Come here   
Okay  
**JLau**  
Of course  
  
When Eliza returned to the van a couple of minutes later, grinning widely and huffing incredulous laughs, John was still leaning against the side of the car, his phone in his hands and staring at Alex’ message.  
  
“You won’t believe this, John. Those girls, they didn’t- “She paused when he didn’t look up, went quiet and stepped closer to him, searching for his eyes.  
  
“… John?” she murmured after a moment, putting a hand on his arm. He lifted his head slowly, narrowing his eye at some spot in the distance of the park, his lips parting.  
  
“Rachel is dead.” He said softly; his voice was quiet and surprisingly calm, though his tongue felt heavy with how simple the words were. They caused Eliza to blink and take a stumbling step backwards, placing a hand over her mouth when she gasped quietly.  
  
There was hair in her face, and she looked at John with her doe eyes widened.  
  
“What? No.” she breathed, defiantly shaking her head and blinking again, tears coming loose from her eye and sticking to her lashes before getting caught in her hair.  
  
John nodded, lifting his eyebrows helplessly, chin quivering, and Eliza shook her head, and he nodded again, heavier this time, and then Eliza was slinging her arms around him and he was quietly crying into her shoulder. The soft jazz up the hill started playing again, and Eliza’s t-shirt smelled like the perfume one of the bridesmaids had sprayed on her earlier; some expensive thing called Daisy Marc Jacobs.  
  
Eliza was warm and small in his arms, and when she shushed him, whispering that it was, somehow, going to be alright, he shook his head, wetly muttering back that she knew that was a lie. They went back to silence and parted after a while, both still crying.  
  
“We have to get to the hospital. Alex is… we gotta- “he left off, and Eliza touched his arm, rubbing his shoulder soothingly.  
  
“Get in the car, we’re done here, anyway, they can do the rest without us. I’ll get us there as fast as possible.” She pushed him to the open van door urgently, and he climbed in and pulled it shut, leaning his forehead to the window while Eliza climbed into the driver’s seat and started the motor.  
  
_She’s gone. In her sleep._  
  
_She’s gone._  
  
Eliza pulled out of the parking lot and a while later they were on the highway, and the window was fogged up with John’s breath.  
  
_She’s gone-_   
  
  
  
They arrived at the hospital half an hour later and hurried to get upstairs. The station seemed even more quiet than usually; maybe that was just John imagining things, though. He thought of the first time he’d been here, and how he’d felt like he was intruding somehow; all of that was gone as he speedwalked down the familiar corridor, his heart beating and nose runny from all the crying as he held on to Eliza’s hand for dear life, letting himself be pulled along.  
  
There was a brief, hushed argument about whether or not John was going into the room alone, which ended with more tears and the sentence “The person he needs to see right now is you, John, okay? I’ll be just outside the door. Now go.” And Eliza practically pushing John into Rachel’s room.  
  
Or was it still Rachel’s room? Because when John came in, the bed was empty, and the sunflowers Eliza had told him Alex had gotten this morning were in the bin, and all the white plastic chairs had returned to the table.   
  
Alex was sat on the bottom end of the bed, facing the wall; his hands were folded in his lap. He wasn’t looking at John, he wasn’t looking at anything; his absent, red rimmed eyes were glued to the sunflowers in the bin. He wasn’t moving, and John couldn’t bear looking at him for long; he instead looked at Burr, who was absent-mindedly dismantling the IV and EKG; when John came in, he turned around and smiled at him briefly, abandoning his work in process and padding past him, out of the door.   
  
The nurse discretely closed behind himself, and John and Alex were left with the orange sunlight coming in through the windows, the silence and the empty bed between them. John stood by the door a little stiffly, unwilling and unable to move. He glanced at Alex, who was slumped on the edge of the bed, nothing but a small shadow. John had never seen him this way; he had seen him sad, obviously, but the look in Alex’ eyes when he finally ripped them away from the sunflowers in the trash to glance back at him was one of such profound, numb and hollowing grief that John almost felt himself getting a little reverent.  
  
He had, honestly, never seen someone this sad.   
  
There was a nothingness, an _exhaustion_ in his Alex’ familiar brown eyes that made John want to cry; he took one tiny step in his direction and then he couldn’t control himself anymore, and he took it all the way, striding towards the bed and sitting down next to Alex limply, hesitating for a second before putting his arm around Alex’ shoulder.  
  
The other boy didn’t look up; he was staring at his hands now, slim and still, and after another beat of silence, John distinguished him humming a melody softly. His voice was so quiet that John would probably not have noticed it at all if he didn’t know it so well.  
  
“Is that…” he muttered, carefully breaking the silence, and Alex nodded, swallowing hard.  
  
“I always loved _Finding Neverland_.” He muttered and shrugged quietly, his hands still lying in his lap. “She taught me how to play it on the piano when I was a kid.”  
  
John didn’t have to ask who ‘she’ was. He looked at Alex attentively, while he sniffled.  
  
“My- my cousin, Peter Lytton, he had a piano.” He hurried to explain “He lived a few streets away when I was ten, and whenever we visited him, she would teach me how to play a little. She would put her hands on mine, a bit like this- “he took John’s hands into his own. “And I would change the melody… _Every time_. I would always change the line, I was- I was the _worst_.” They both laughed quietly, but stopped when Alex started talking again.  
  
“But she… I would be super upset when I failed a line, but she would just point at the sheets and smile and tell me to just start over, she… she was so patient, and calm, and- and I think that’s when I started counting when I was scared, or anxious, or angry, you know, whenever I need to calm down. She would… teach me intervals, you know, second, third, quart, quint, sext, sept, octave and all that jazz.” He sniffled, leaning into John’s shoulder a little more. “And she would count along while I played, and because I was learning French at the same time, she would do it in French, like this:” Alex took a shaky breath, his eyebrows lifted a little, and started singing quietly.  
  
“ _Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf_ _-_ ” he sing-songed, an uprising melody, quietly, his voice hoarse. His chin had started quivering when he as at seven, and John looked at him, eyebrows furrowed.  
  
“ _Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf- “he_ imitated, and Alex nodded, meeting his eyes briefly and quickly looking back at their intertwined hands. _  
  
__“_ Good _.”_ He said, and then _“Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf_ \- “, sinking this time. John repeated it again, and Alex tried to sing alone, but when John was at nine, he was still at seven, involuntarily having been slowed down by a dry sob getting past his lips. He took a wet breath and tried again, though, and John could do nothing but watch. _  
  
“Sept, huit, neuf.”_ Alex breathed, his slightly sweaty, shaking hands loosening their grip on John’s and coming up to cover his eyes.  
  
_“Sept, huit, neuf.”_ He managed. John pulled him closer.  
  
“ _Sept, huit-“_  
  
Then his shoulders started shaking too hard to continue, and he slumped into himself and into John’s side, limply crying into his hands quietly. John carded his hand through his hair, shushing him and whispering quiet “I know”s while the exhaustion of the past weeks, the past months, the past seven years finally got the better of Alex.  
  
The sun traced its long, thin fingers over the two intertwined boys in the empty hospital room, a room where Rachel Hamilton wasn’t there anymore.   
  
An empty hospital room in a city where there was nothing that made Alex want to stay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize.


	15. The calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Rachel's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HeLLO Y'ALL I'M BACK AND LATE AND SORRY FOR THAT  
> So first off, I got so many comments on the last chapter from people who told me they cried buckets or whose hearts I broke and to those I just wanted to apologize (again). I hope you're all okay and remember that I love you! ♥  
> Now that that's out of the way, is everybody else over said chapter by now? No? Well, me neither, fun times, here comes another sad chapter (I'm literally breaking everything there is to break hahahaaa). You better buckle up, this one's a seriously bumpy ride.
> 
> There's drug, medication and alcohol use for all the wrong reasons and slight implied self harm (although it's not spoken of as such) in here. Yeah I know it's tough it sort of spun out of control. Nobody dies in this chapter though, so that's something.
> 
> I apologize in advance and hope you enjoy reading anyway! 
> 
> Side note: I will definitely rewrite half of this when I can make time bc it's so bad, but I just wanted to finally have it up here you know. I hope you can forgive me, since it's 4am. And I want to go to sleep so badly. omg I gotta be up at eight tomorrow give me d e a t h. I'm in Estonia btw and I was in Russia and Finland before that exciting things are happening and it's super annoying that I can't function half of the time bc I'm so tired... But I'll manage somehow. I'll leave you to it now. Bye.

  
  
ALEX AWOKE AT 1 PM ON A THURSDAY IN A QIUET, ABANDONED APARTMENT.   
  
He felt more tired than when he’d gone to bed and limp like he did every day; yet, like every day, he somehow managed to get out of bed and into the shower, but by the time his mind told him to brush his teeth and get dressed properly, he felt on the verge of crying and gave up. In sweatpants and a huge, red baseball t-shirt from the fresh laundry basket that probably didn’t belong to him, his hair damp and in a halfhearted ponytail, his glasses not straight on his slightly reddened nose, he padded to the kitchen and made coffee. His fingers were shaky and a little numb, which he’d gotten used to by now; with him, it was a common side effect of being in a poor mental state.  
  
The air in the entire apartment smelled old and stale; while the coffee machine whirred, Alex padded around the living room and opened all the windows, leaning out of each one for a moment to look down at the street and up at the too bright sky and breathe a little. He returned to the counter, straightening his glasses and covering his cool forearms with his hands; despite the sun shining outside and the pleasantly warm wind coming in, he shivered and wished he’d taken a sweatshirt from their room, preferably one of John’s – John’s were always so wonderfully oversized because he was taller and a lot more muscular than Alex – but he was too lazy to walk back to their room just to get one.   
  
While he waited for his coffee, he listened to the chatter of people down on the street, the growl of motors, sirens and the elevated train passing in the distance, thought about how absolutely fascinating and oddly ignorant it was that the world, careless as it was, just kept going without him; his own world had been motionlessly waiting for something to happen for days. The coffee machine beeped suddenly, retrieving him from his daydreaming; he turned around slowly and took his a little too full cup carefully, then spotted a note laying in the bright light on the kitchen table, scribbled down in John’s cursive handwriting. He reluctantly abandoned his coffee, sniffling, and strolled over.  
  
_Hey querido  
I asked Eliza to give me the day off but there’s like ten proms today and we gotta deliver to all of them so my help is needed, but I got her to let me go home around noon. I’m sorry. Call if you need anything, or if anything’s the matter in general, I’ll have my phone on all the time.   
  
_ Alex watched how the note shook slightly between his index finger and thumb. _“Around noon”. Then why aren’t you here, Laurens. Why aren’t you here.  
  
Also, the grief counselling guy called and asked you to call back so you could make an appointment. Which I know you don’t want to do, but which could be really useful. Please consider.  
_  
Alex frowned at John’s words. _Grief counselling. Yeah, I’m not doing that. I’ll fucking manage_.  
  
_The guys from the hospital called, too, they arranged the funeral tomorrow in their (catholic) partner church on Atlantic Ave. I’ll help you with invites when I’m home, if you want that, but a) I doubt they will arrive on time, and b) I was thinking we’d keep it small. Less people is always better.  
I love you so much. Hang in there, little one. _ ♥  
  
Alex sighed a small sigh and let go of the note after staring at the heart at the end for a minute, dropping it to the table and closing his eyes wearily, thinking about the word _funeral_. It was simply absurd that his mother, _his Rachel_ was supposed to be gone and dead and to be buried in just a day.  
  
He covered his face with his hand, tried to keep his chin from quivering and found himself wishing things would just end. _This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking happening, what the fuck is going on._  
  
He huffed a wet, incredulous laugh and pulled his phone out of his pocket when it buzzed; it was Burr, and Alex pressed red; he wasn’t really in the mood to talk to Burr right now, or anyone else, for that matter.    
  
It got quiet in the kitchen again, and Alex wanted to cry, feeling overwhelmed with how much he actually had to organize and take care of now that Rachel was gone. _Gone_.   
  
  
Y _ou’re never going to be alone, Alex.  
  
You’ll always have Jemmy only a call away_.  
  
Alex stood in the kitchen, staring at the white, slightly cracked tiles beneath his bare feet and holding his quiet phone in his hands for a long, uncertain second before unlocking it slowly and starting to scroll through his contacts. His fingers hesitated, hovering just above the number, one he hadn’t dialed in quite a while for a moment; then he put his finger down and pressed his phone to his ear.  
  
After a minute, someone picked up.  
  
“This is James.” Came a familiar, bright and slightly Scottish-accented voice from the other end of the line, and Alex had to suppress a stifled sob at the sound of his brother’s voice.  
  
He and James had sort of lost each other out of their sight after James had moved to Glasgow a couple of years back; they hadn’t really talked since, only on their respective birthdays and sometimes they had texted on Christmas, and Alex hadn’t realized how much he’d actually missed hearing his big brother’s voice.  
  
He pressed a jolting hand to his mouth, and there was James’ voice again, a little irritated now. “Hello? Who is this?” he asked, and Alex wiped his nose, sniffled and managed “It’s me. Alex. Hi.”  
  
“A… Alex! Hey, how are you?”  
  
Alex didn’t respond immediately, and he could practically hear James looking at the phone with a slight frown, listening closely to see if he was speaking extra quietly.   
  
“I-“ Alex attempted, and it started dawning on him that this hadn’t been a very good idea. There was something unfamiliar about talking to James, and the fact that hearing him talk made Alex so emotional that he couldn’t even say anything properly embarrassed him, making him incredibly self-conscious. He wrapped his free arm around his torso and looked to the window, his chin low.  
  
“… It’s been too long since we talked. Umm… what’s new, where do you live right now? How’s Mom?”  
  
Alex froze when James mentioned Rachel. He felt his heart cramping and his hand clenching a fist around the fabric of his t-shirt and wished John were here.   
  
If John were here, he’d hold his hand while he was talking to James, and he would run his thumb over the back of his hand and smile at him a little and mouth something along the lines of “You can do this, querido”, and Alex could lean into him slightly before answering. If John were here, he’d know what to say, and his voice would be firm and not wet and weak and quiet as he’d say-  
  
“- She died on Tuesday.”  
  
There was a silence, and Alex could hear the sounds of cars and the traffic news playing on a car radio softly in the background, then there was a soft breath and James’ voice was back.  
  
“That’s- fuck… fuck-” James breathed shakily, and Alex blinked a few tears away from his eyes, hurrying to fill his brother’s silence.  
  
“The funeral is tomorrow. Will you be there?”  
  
James huffed quietly, and Alex noticed he had been chewing on his lower lip hard when he tasted a bit of blood in his mouth.  
  
“…Shit, Alex- Uh, I hate to say this, but, I don’t think I’ll make it. You know I’m in Scotland, right? I wouldn’t arrive on time. I wouldn’t even get a flight anymore. This is-”  
  
Alex could feel his stomach drop. He closed his eyes, facing the ceiling, his lips parting. “Please. Jemmy, _please_. I need- you _have_ to be there. She would- she’d want you to be there. Come on…” He made an incredulous noise in the back of his throat mildly resembling a laugh- or a sob.   
  
James didn’t say anything for a moment, and his voice was dripping with regretfulness when he continued. “Sorry, Alex. I would- I wish I could, but you have to understand that I can’t really-“  
  
“James-” his voice hitched in his throat. Alex’ shook his head desperately until he realized James couldn’t even see him. “Don’t do this. You can’t just _not be_ at her funeral.“  
  
There was a long sigh on the other end of the line. “I wish I could come. But- you were there when it happened, I presume?”  
  
Alex wiped a tear rolling from his eye away from his cheek and gasped into his wrist softly. “I was asleep. She- she went in her sleep, as well, I-“  
  
James made a humming sound. Alex believed to hear a pop song playing quietly in the background on a radio, and it caused him to frown. Did James really care so little? How could he be so nonchalant about this? It made Alex’ blood boil. “At least she went in peace, then.”  
  
Alex blinked, incredulous. “Are- are you for real? “ _In peace_ ”? You don’t know shit about how she died. You haven’t even been here in, what, two years? Considering that, I don’t think you can even begin to try to understand what it feels like to be in the hospital with her _every day_ for almost an entire year and then see her go just like that. You weren’t there, it- like, it’s not anything like when Dad left, because he’s most likely still out there somewhere regretting all his life choices, but Mom is gone, and she’s not coming back, and you haven’t been here in two years, and so I don’t think you understand this.”  
  
“Hey, Alex, hold on a minute- do you honestly think I don’t care about her being… dead?”  
  
Alex threw his hands up in the air. His head was spinning a little, and he pinched the back of his nose with his fingers. “You’re being-!” He cut himself off and inhaled deeply. “It does seem a bit like it, to be honest. And- like, why aren’t you willing to at least try to get a flight? I’ll even pay, James, just…. _please_. I don’t think I can do this without you. I don’t want to be the only one whose hand is being shook a thousand times at her funeral by people I don’t know. _Please_ , Jemmy. Try to come.”   
  
There was a sigh on the other end of the line, and Alex heard James shift uncomfortably. “I can’t. I’m really sorry.”  
  
Alex let out a deep breath he hadn’t known he’d held, and let his eyes slip shut. “You’re kidding, right?”  
  
“I’m really sorry. Pauline’s birthday is tomorrow, you see, and- I can’t. I’m sorry.” Alex’ eyes reopened, and he heard himself scoff incredulously. He couldn’t be serious. “ _”_ Pauline’s birthday _”_? Who the fuck even is Pauline?” There was a silence in which Alex ran a hand through his hair and listened to James not saying anything.   
  
“Pauline is…” Alex pulled his glasses off and waited for James to continue. “… my wife? I got married two years ago, Alex? You were my best man? Mom wasn’t there? You hooked up with Edward Stevens when you were really drunk, called me a dumb straight idiot for getting married and left early?”   
  
Alex felt his eyes widen as he remembered a kind, funny, short and pale girl with dark hair and freckles in a white dress next to his brother, and realized that incident James was talking about was why they hadn’t seen each other in two years. _Of course. Pauline._   
  
He took off his glasses, groaning softly in embarrassment and covered his face, feeling himself blush deeply at the memory of sneaking out of the park in which the wedding took place with his foster brother and the messy, very drunk hand job he’d given said foster brother in the back of a taxi on the way back to their hotel.   
  
“Look, I’m really, _really_ upset about Mom, but- I can’t afford leaving for the states right now. She never really liked me, anyway.”  
  
“That’s bullshit and you know it, and if you are actually upset, you will go to Mom’s _goddamn funeral_ , and if your wife is worth being married to you, she will understand that you are skipping her birthday for your mother’s funeral.”  
  
James exhaled soundly. When he spoke, his voice had a slightly annoyed tone shimmering beneath the surface, and Alex, silently listening to his brother’s sharp voice and the thudding of his own heart in his throat, wondered how he had managed to piss his brother off so much that after 17 years of growing up together and living in a constant codependence, they were strangers again. “Alex, sorry, but I don’t really see this happening, okay? Like you said, I haven’t been to the States in two years, I wasn’t there when she died, and I seriously doubt that she would even want me there, and I’m sorry about what has happened, but I’m hanging up now.”  
  
“James-“ Alex tried sharply, but his brother cut him off. “I hope you’re going to be okay. See you, Alex.”  
  
There was a crackle, and then the line died, and Alex stood silently for a second, a noise of anger and frustration building up within his chest and then ripping through the silence of the apartment as he lifted his arm and threw his phone to the ground heavily. There was a loud cracking sound and Alex supported himself on the counter while a sob broke from his throat, twisted and lonely and echoing through the empty rooms.  
  
His knees gave in and he slid down against the counter and buried his face in his hands, screaming into them until his throat was sore and someone was shaking his shoulder, telling him to stop.  
  
Alex recognized John’s voice, gentle and calm but with a wary tone shimmering beneath the surface. He didn’t trust himself to look up yet, but when John said his name pleadingly again, he obliged; his voice softened, and he cried into his hands with pathetic, sore little whines while he felt John’s hands being placed on both his shoulders gingerly, as if he was afraid of hurting him.   
  
_Think about it, though;_ _maybe he isn’t afraid of hurting you but afraid of_ you _hurting_ him. _And can you blame him, really? You’re throwing things, you’re screaming- you must know you remind him of his father, right? If you were him, you’d be scared of you, too, Hamilton.  
  
_ He felt a pang of guilt at his trail of thoughts and cried harder.   
  
“I’m so sorry.” He choked out. He felt John running a hand up his neck and into his hair, the touch of his hands still soft and careful, worried eyes burning holes into Alex’ head. “What for?” he asked, genuinely confused, and Alex shook his head wildly, sobbing. “I must be scaring you. I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry.”  
  
John was silent, his hand stalling in their movement for a split second, proving Alex right, until he answered. “Don’t apologize. What happened?” John pulled his hands away from his face, wiped his cheeks with the cuffs of his shirt and traced his thumb down Alex’ jaw. The other boy was still wearing shoes, his backpack discarded by the living room door; apparently, he’d heard Alex scream when he’d come home from work and immediately come to the kitchen. He was looking at him insistently, and Alex, muffling a sob behind his tightly shut lips, leaned his head back against the wood of the shelf, finding himself unable to form words.   
  
_God_ , he was pathetic.   
  
He didn’t want to look at John; the other boy had seen him like this way too often this past month, and Alex silently promised himself that he wouldn’t cry as much now in July; he was going to be strong. He was going to manage.  
  
While he stared at the ceiling absently, John was leaning over his shoulder and reaching for his phone. He inhaled sharply and brushed his thumb over a long, straight crack in the display and glanced at Alex, who had taken one look at it and then started crying again, then looked back at the display. He frowned.  
  
“Alex, that’s not how you spell ‘Burr’.” He said, and Alex reopened his eyes, sniffling wetly. “What?” he asked, his nose stuffed, and John shrugged. “You got a text from someone called Børr. Can I read it?”  
  
Alex shrugged, turning his head away from John and the light coming in through the window. He listened to John’s fingers tapping on the display as he typed in his code – which wasn’t hard for him since it was, cheesily, a combination of their names Laf had come up with – and it was silent for a second before John let out an incredulous, breathy laugh, shifting closer to Alex.   
  
“Alex. Shit, Baby Girl, you have to see this.” He said breathily, and Alex reluctantly turned his head to look at his phone, wincing when he got a better look at what the fall to the tiles had done to it – as John held it out to him.  
  
**B** **ø** **rr**  
Hey Alex, since you won’t answer your phone, I’ll just tell you this way.   
I know you are probably busy planning stuff or grieving and not talking to anyone or hopefully going to grief counselling, but I just thought I’d let you know about this. On Tuesday, I tried to talk to Adams about his treatment – or rather, lack of – of your mother in which I tried to get him to do something, but – and I’m honestly ashamed and so sorry for this – he threatened to fire me, did a little bit of button-pushing in mentioning my family, and I, well, I gave in and shut my mouth. Again, I’m so, so sorry. Anyway, later that day I decided I had to put this right, and scheduled a meeting with my – and Adams’ supervisor. I told him about the way he’s been treating Rachel and him threatening to fire me. He asked for proof and witnesses, and I showed him her file – which has been basically untouched since George left – and named you and John as witnesses, and he was shocked. He told me he’d have him fired by noon, and before I called you, I just saw Adams leave his office with his equipment. So. He’s gone and not ever coming back.   
Dr. Gates, my supervisor, also said he’d talk to the management and get them to file a lawsuit against him; we only have so few witnesses, you and John and me, and so I need both of you to draft a statement describing what you saw going on with Adams. This is very important, Alex, because if we succeed, we’ll save a hell of a lot of lives.  
I know that for Rachel, this help all comes too late, and again, I’m sincerely sorry. I hope you can forgive me for failing you and her; I’m deeply sorry for your loss, and I hope you’ll be alright. You know that I know what losing a parent feels like, and I know right now you feel like nothing’s every going to be the same, but take your time. In a few years, max, I promise it’ll all make sense again.   
You’re not alone in this, Alex. We’re all with you.   
  
Alex looked up from the display, meeting John’s eyes briefly before locking his phone, pushing it into his pocket and standing shakily. John was still kneeling on the floor and gazing up at him as he supported himself on the counter with his hands, breathing heavily.  
  
“Alex- what happened?” he asked again, concern weighing heavily in his words, and Alex felt his voice catch in his throat. He leaned on the counter heavily, feeling John stand and walk up behind him.  
  
“Ah… J- I called James, and he- he won’t make it. Tomorrow, I mean. He won’t be there.“ There was a silence, then John scoffed. “Are you kidding?” he asked, and Alex shook his head slowly.   
  
“It’s his wife’s birthday. Plus, he’s in Scotland. Or- I don’t know. Maybe he just doesn’t want to come.” Alex shrugged, clenching his shaking fingers into fists. John watched him and then stepped in closer, putting a hand on his arm carefully. Alex bit his lip, willing himself not to move away. _Let him have this. Let him have the illusion of being able to provide comfort for you right now. He needs it.  
  
_ “Alex- if you want to talk to me- I know it’s hard, to talk, but it might actually help. Let me grant you peace of mind, it’s-“ John began, and since Alex could already sense another “It’s going to be okay” in the air that he really didn’t want to hear, he interrupted him.   
  
“I’m fine. I don’t give a fuck if he comes or not. I have too many other things on my mind to be angry at him, anyway.“ he lied, his jaw set as he glanced at John, who was chewing on his lower lip, watching him, his brows furrowed.   
  
“And honestly, I don’t really want to talk about James right now, because he’s an ass, and he’s always been an ass, and- let’s just- can we-“ he turned towards John a little, a slightly desperate expression on his face, desperate for a distraction, and John seemed to understand, because he slowly and gently cupped his jaw, his other hand resting on Alex’ waist and tilted his face up to kiss him with a slight frown still playing with his features that disappeared, his eyes slipping shut with a quiet sigh when Alex parted his lips and ran his hands up his back, digging his fingers into his shoulder blades slightly.   
  
They kissed for a while, sloppy and warm, John’s hand sliding to the back of Alex’ head to bring him closer. Alex’ glasses were caught in between their faces, angling awkwardly across his eyes, but he didn’t have it in him to care; he was too caught up in the sensation of John’s tongue against the roof of his mouth and the warm press of John’s hands against the side of his face and the small of his back. Still, somehow, John was a little more attentive than Alex, but they both knew what that was to blame on. They parted at some point, panting slightly.  
  
Alex looked up at the other boy, finding himself amazed at how incredibly clearly he could see all his freckles when he was wearing glasses and made a mental note to wear them around him more often.   
  
“Thanks.” He said breathily, noticing that John had actually managed to get his mind off Rachel – and James, and Burr, and Adams, and Washington, and the lawsuit, and the cooling coffee in the machine – for just a while, and let John pull him into his arms, one hand in his hair at the back of his head.   
  
_Let him have this._  
  
Alex rested his temple against John’s shoulder and looked at a coffee stain on the wooden countertop absent mindedly, somehow managing to listen to John’s “I wish you could just let me inside your heart. Let me be a part of the narrative. Burr’s right, you know; it’s going to be okay.” without closing his eyes.  
  
  
RACHEL’S FUNERAL WAS AT 3 PM THE NEXT DAY. It was a warm day; beautiful pre-summer weather, a light breeze running its hands through the branches of the trees in the church yard.   
  
Before the ceremony, when the father asked Alex if he wanted to have one last look at Rachel, he declined; he said his goodbyes to a closed coffin in a back room of the church on his own. He read her the final letter from Emanuel Barlough to Anthony Jones that he’d finished writing earlier today and told her how sorry he was for giving the story such an unhappy ending, then simply left, crying into his hands in an attempt to not ruin his suit.   
  
The ceremony itself was a quick and quiet event; the hospital had arranged most of it, there was a cheap coffin of bright wood and multiple bouquets of sunflowers John and Alex had arranged together in the morning.   
Except for his friends, Burr and the Stevens, Alex didn’t know most of the people who came; they all claimed to be family friends, and he was too exhausted to bring himself to care if they were telling the truth.   
  
The black-dressed group of attenders stood in the back of the church yard where Rachel’s coffin stood by a six-foot-deep hole in the ground, sunflowers on top of it and more of them leaning against the make-do-wooden cross that said only Rachel’s name while the father read some verses from the bible that Alex didn’t bother listening to. He stood next to John, their shoulders brushing a little, surrounded by their friends in dark clothes; Peggy was holding on to Angelica’s arm, and Eliza was crying into Maria’s shoulder; Angelica had brought Madison and Jefferson, who were both intensely crying even though they’d never even met Rachel; Herc and Laf were glancing at Alex every now and then, eyes big and sad. Burr was continuously looking at the tips of his shoes, and Alex could tell he was crying.    
  
Around them, the ‘family friends’ had tissues pressed to eyes and noses and Alex swayed slightly on his feet when John left his side, stepping up the father and taking over his spot in front of the crowd when he had finished.   
  
When John had told Alex yesterday evening that people probably expected him to make a speech of some kind and he had started hiccup crying hard for no apparent reason, John had hugged him close and volunteered to make a speech himself. His talk was centered around their day at Rockaway Beach and had Alex shaking and crying. John spoke fluently, quickly and quietly, and Alex felt a slight pang of guilt when he remembered that John didn’t like talking in front of people, and then a warmth spreading in his chest at the fact that he was doing it anyway so Alex didn’t have to.   
  
When John had finished, tears standing in his eyes and the piece of paper with his notes shaking violently in his hands where he stood next to Rachel’s coffin, Peggy glanced at Alex, but he was still motionless, so she stepped forward and took John’s arm and led him back to his spot beside Alex. She didn’t leave after that, but stayed by John’s side in between the two of them, her free hand that wasn’t held by John rubbing over Alex’ back.  
  
They watched Rachel’s coffin being lowered into the ground slowly; wind moved through the trees.   
  
Peggy whispered something along the lines of “I’m so sorry for your loss.” in Alex’ direction, then squeezed John’s hand and walked away, returning to Angelica’s side to take her hand and step forward with her. Laf and Herc followed them, Maria, Eliza, Madison and Jefferson in tow, and they all added their handful of soil to the grave.   
  
Alex and John stayed where they were; Alex let people shake his hand and give him their condolences, nodded and faked a lot of smiles. They watched as each of the attendants put a handful of soil into the grave, and after a while, they were all gone, and two church gardeners that had earlier introduced themselves as Sam and Dean started putting the rest of the soil into the grave with shovels. They spoke quietly, laughed a little, framed the grave with small rocks and planted grass and small, blue wildflowers into the fresh soil, and Alex stood and blinked tears away from his eyes.   
  
He didn’t want to move, because if he moved, this would be real, and Rachel would be left alone in the dirt while he walked away with John, back to the church where their friends and probably Burr waited for them to return, and he would walk out of the church gate and home and then, she would really be gone.   
  
And Alex didn’t want her to be gone. He wanted her to be here, and not ill, and happy, and alive, alive, _alive-_  
  
He startled when he felt John taking hold of his hand and intertwining their fingers.  
  
He lifted his head and saw John looking at him, not smiling, just looking, his eyes big and warm and his skin smooth and familiar against his own. “Are you ready to head back?” John asked quietly, barely audible over the chatter of the gardeners and the faint thump of soil hitting the wood of the coffin.   
  
Alex shook his head softly, and John nodded, muttering “If you need something to lean on, I have a shoulder.” And looking back at the gardeners and the grave. Alex blinked and swallowed the lump in his throat, gritting his teeth a little. He looked at the yellow leaves of the sunflowers by the wood cross.  
  
The truth was, he wanted nothing more than to lean into John’s shoulder, his fist twisted in the front of his shirt and cry into his suit jacket; there was nothing he wanted more than to let the part of himself that had never quite left the 10th of August and was still wearing a sweat-drenched, red t-shirt and was still crying over his mother, who wasn’t going to come home from the hospital to make him those pancakes she’d promised him take over; he wanted nothing more than to give in and break down and be weak one more time, tell John about that incredibly terrifying, empty wideness in his chest that felt like a supernova, a star dying and widening before slumping into itself, turning into a tiny, heavy black hole.   
  
Because that’s what he felt like; like his chest was going to collapse and he was going to collapse, because the thing that had defined him the most in all his life, the regular visits to Rachel’s room in Brooklyn Hospital, his mother always somehow being there, and the love, the endless, adoring, calm and constant love he had for his mother – she put the stars in his sky, and everyone knew it, especially he himself – was now gone and was being buried by two young men in green shirts.  
  
He wanted to be weak; he wanted to be able to allow himself to cry, and he wanted to be able to allow himself to ask for help, because somewhere deep inside him, he knew he wasn’t going to manage without John by his side, and Aaron, and Peggy and Eliza and Laf, and that they weren’t going to manage without him by his side; he knew he should call the grief counsellor and find himself a therapist, he’d always know he should find himself a therapist, but-  
  
He was almost twenty years old, shouldn’t he be able to manage on his own? Didn’t others his age manage on their own? Of course, others hadn’t grown up without their parents; hadn’t had to grow up as quickly as he had. But they still managed, and Alex wanted so badly to manage, too.  
  
Alex glanced down at John’s hand in his.  
  
_I am strong. I can do this.  
  
I can do this on my own.  
  
_ He squeezed his hand. “John.” The other boy looked up, met his eyes and smiled briefly, humming.  
  
“Let’s head back.” Alex said quietly, and John obliged, slightly reluctantly turning around. Alex took one last look at Rachel’s grave and mouthed “ _See you around_ ” before he followed John, up towards the church where the others were waiting.  
  
  
ON THE WAY BACK TO THEIR STREET, EVERYONE WAS QUIET. John was still holding Alex’ hand, and though their palms were slowly growing sweaty, neither of them let go. When his friends decided to go hang out at the coffee shop a bit, Alex excused himself and went home; he really wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, and he knew someone would try to do just that if he joined them now.  
  
So he went home; got rid of his shoes in the hallway, worked out of his suit on his way to their room and changed into Jeans and a blue t-shirt before grabbing a hoodie and, after a moment of hesitation, the sandwich bag with John’s stash in it and climbing out of the window onto the slightly rusty, red fire escape.  
  
Alex had never been out here; it was very windy, but the wind was warm, and the fire escape was in good shape, so as long as he didn’t look down, nothing bad was going to happen. He sat down on the steps of the narrow stairs, pulled the hoodie over his head and got comfortable. He carefully unfolded the sandwich bag.   
  
He had watched John roll joints a thousand times, but doing it himself, in the wind on the fire escape with his shaky, cool fingers was an entirely different thing than that. It took ages and several attempts, and when he was finally done, he realized he’d forgotten to put some regular tobacco in there, so now it was just weed. Alex hesitated for a moment, then muttered “Ah, fuck it.” under his breath and lit the joint, pulling on it.  
  
He watched the city and the 30°- angling sun and smoked, feeling himself getting lightheaded and the pull in his chest a little less painful; he only coughed a couple of times, and remembered the first time he’d tried weed; he hadn’t liked it at all, and if he was being honest, he didn’t like it now; it made his tongue heavy and his brain fuzzy, two things he usually hated but could actually use right now so his mind didn’t wander places he didn’t want it to. He sat a while and looked into the distance, thinking about nothing in particular except maybe what would happen if he theoretically never talked to anyone ever again, his mind wiped pleasantly clean by the smoke.  
  
He spent approximately an hour on the fire escape, losing any sense of time in the process, then, when his fingers were stiff from the wind and his limbs felt sore from sitting for so long, he stubbed out the greyish remains of the joint and climbed back into the room, where he took off the hoodie and put on a jacket. Then he slipped out of the quiet apartment.  
  
Alex made his way down the stairs and out of the building, then started walking; he didn’t quite know where he was going, but the day’s warmth was still lingering in the evening air, and it was quiet in the street, and in his head, he was softly talking to himself; things he’d never really told anyone, things he’d meant to tell Rachel about before she was gone.  
  
It was quiet downtown; Alex had never liked the quiet before.  
  
  
WHEN JOHN CAME HOME FROM GROCERY STORE DUTY THAT EVENING AT 7 PM, he found Laf and Herc sitting on the couch in the living room. Neither Alex nor Peggy were anywhere to be seen, and he frowned, dropping the grocery bags to the floor by the kitchen door.  
  
“Hey, where’s Peggy? Didn’t we want to make Chili for Alex?” he asked, spinning on his heel to look down the hallway. His frown deepened when he shouted Peggy’s and Alex’ names and got no answer.   
  
“Guys. Where the fuck is Alex?” he asked, a little sharper this time, concern blooming in his stomach. Herc looked up at him with a strange expression, and only Laf managed to answer.  
  
“Peggy’s out getting some wine with Eliza. Je ne sais-pas, we don’t know where he is, but, um, John, mon ami…” he looked pointedly at the couch table, and John, craning his neck as he worked out of Laf’s – actually his, by now –  bomber jacket, spotted an envelope.  
  
His motions stalled, and he felt his heart clench into a fist, and all he could say was “Oh.”  
  
Looking at the envelope, he immediately recognized the logo of the New York Academy Of Arts.  
  
Herc made an impatient noise, wriggling in his spot on the sofa. “Come on, Laurens, fucking _open_ it” he gritted through closed teeth. “Please, we’ve waited long enough, we’ve been sitting here waiting for you to show up for half an hour, and I mean, we all deserve to know what it says, because we were there for moral support. John, babe, _please_.”  
  
John had almost frowned at him for the pet name, but he found his feet betraying him, staggering towards the couch and grabbing the envelope with twitching fingers as he dropped himself on his spot between Laf and Herc. For a second, he remembered that this had always been his spot; that he was always the one who ended up in the middle, because he was the cuddliest one of the three of them, and that this was what it had been like before he’d met Alex, and before Laf, Peggy and Herc had gotten together.   
  
This was what it had been like in his first months here, his dreamy first autumn months in New York, where they’d just moved in, his hair barely reached his shoulders, and the couch table was still a cardboard box. Back then it had been the three of them against the rest of the world, and in this second, where the two cuddled up against his sides with excited, expectant expressions, and the fairy lights in the bookshelf were on, and the light outside was the color of pink roses, and he held the thin envelope, held his _future_ , and a huge load of terrifying but also weirdly exciting _uncertainty_ right along with it, he was glad that they were here with him. He missed this sometimes; he missed a lot of things sometimes, but he was often too conscious, too busy to notice.   
  
“I’m glad you’re here with me.” He whispered, and Laf pressed a kiss to his cheek, and Herc nudged his shoulder, hurrying him along.  
  
“Open it, come one, John!” Laf squealed, voice strained with expectation, and John smiled at him briefly, thinking _if only Alex was here_ before ripping the envelope open.  
  
John pulled the single sheet out, fiddling with it, his hands shaking so hard that he had to pause briefly. He laborious unfolded it, and they all simultaneously held their breath as they read.  
  
  
_Dear Mr. John Laurens,  
  
We would like to sincerely apologize for the long wait and are now honored to inform you that you have been accepted to the New York Academy of Arts with a full scholarship by the upcoming fall semester._  
  
  
There was a long silence in which John read the words again and again, and then, Laf managed a breathy “Oh, mon dieu.” beside him.  
  
John felt his heart skip a beat, then start racing as he heard himself starting to whisper quiet “Oh my god”s, and Laf slowly started giggling like an idiot to his right, and then, suddenly, he was caged in Herc’s wide arms.   
  
“My son Johnathan is going to art school!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, ending his sentence in a sob, and Laf was screeching, and John heard himself laughing, and his eyes spilled over with gratefulness and happiness and mostly _relief_ as he hugged his friends back. His head was spinning.  
  
_I made it,_ he thought _. I really made it, didn’t I? I never thought I’d make it, but I did, I did, and now I never have to go back to South Carolina, because now I can be my own man, now I belong to myself, now I can do what I always wanted to do.  
  
I’m going to art school. I’m finally, finally going to art school.  
  
If only Alex was here._  
  
His laughter died somewhere in his throat.  
  
  
ALEX DIDN’T REALIZE HOW FAR HE’D WALKED UNTIL HE REACHED THE BROOKLYN HEIGHTS PARK he’d visited with John on their first date and found himself aimlessly wandering down the promenade, surrounded by tourists posing for pictures in front of the Manhattan sunset skyline.   
  
He got out of the way of people’s selfie sticks and joggers with their dogs, not looking at the undoubtedly beautiful sunset but at how the people around him were interacting; laughing at each other’s jokes and smiling into camera lenses; couples, intertwined and squinting smilingly at the fading light. Alex wondered if they could tell what had happened in his life, that he’d lost someone – just thinking the phrase “losing someone” felt absurd to him. He felt like he was wearing a sign around his neck that said “look everyone my Mom died on Tuesday” in all-caps, and every time someone on the promenade gave him a glance, he felt like they were pitying him, and he hated it, he hated it so much.  
  
_Look, everyone! On Tuesday, my Mom died. On Tuesday, I lost someone.  
_  
Maybe, though, since he was obviously not wearing a sign around his neck, they were glancing at him because at some point during his walk, he’d started crying again and couldn’t stop. When he wiped is face, his hands were cold, and his feet hurt, and he couldn’t remember how long he’d been out here, and so, looking at the sun behind the Manhattan Skyline one last time, he turned, deciding it was time to go back.  
  
He staggered through the park, past empty benches in the twilight, overflowing trash cans and people making their way to the promenade to watch the sun; he walked until he was back on the streets and down Atlantic Avenue, all the while ignoring the long shadow the hospital’s partner church cast over the street in the distance.   
  
He made his way through the rush hour crowd on the wide sidewalk, keeping his head down, and even though he didn’t mean to, when he reached the church gates, he pushed at them – they were open – and went inside, the calm coolness of the church embracing him; a children’s choir was practicing, high, clear voices singing some part of the national anthem, a little out of tune. They were probably preparing for some Independence Day concert, their conductor lazily waving a hand from the left to the right as they sang. There was someone in the third row from the altar, watching them; Alex, not quite sure if he was allowed to be in here during their practice, stayed in the shadows of the side-ship, telling himself to finally stop crying.   
  
He walked quietly, looking at half-lit paintings of saints and watching small candles flicker in slight drafts of air as he passed. He considered buying and lighting one for Rachel, but decided not to when he didn’t find any money in his pockets. He didn’t want to steal from the church his mother was buried in, even though the catholic church definitely had more than enough money in his opinion.  
  
The conductor interrupted the song with a quiet command, shuffling through papers and telling the about twenty children that there was one part that wasn’t quite right yet; that they should start over from bar thirty.   
  
They did, and Alex stared at them, his arms hanging limply at his sides.  
  
_Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept- no, don’t stop!_ _Why did you stop, that was so good! Try again, Alex. You’re getting so much better. Don’t give up now, you bore! Just try again. Line three, let’s go.  
  
Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq-  
  
_ When he didn’t get shouted at by someone for breaking and entering after five minutes, he finally sat down in the fifth row, clasping his hands in his lap and looking to the altar and the choir.  
  
The song had changed; what they were singing now was newer, and he believed to know it from somewhere. He couldn’t remember having heard it anywhere before, though; but he somehow knew the lyrics.   
  
_This land is your land, this land is my land  
From California to New York Island---  
_  
Alex, looking at his knees, listened closely and whispered along, until someone, quietly, said “Hey”, and ripped him out of his thoughts.  
  
He startled, looked up and was met with a woman in her late twenties with dreadlocks and dark, large, almond-shaped eyes smiling a wide smile down at him.   
  
“Uh… hey.” He murmured, asking himself if she should know her name from somewhere, but then she was already continuing. “Do you mind if I sit?” she asked. Her voice was low and soft, and it carried a calmness that reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on who it was.  
  
She pointed a blunt-nailed finger at the seat next to him, and though he did mind because he’d rather be alone, he managed a soft “Of course not.” and she sat, leaving six feet of space between them and crossing her legs. They both looked back ahead, letting a comfortable silence build. He watched her from the corner of his eye, how she was smiling at the kids, but frowning slightly as if she meant to say something but was still searching for words.  
  
“I don’t actually believe in God-” She then began, quietly, and he glanced at her again. “- but as a teacher, I have to be able to give some kind of hope to the kids, so I’m used to faking it. I don’t believe in God, but I still pray for them every day.”  
  
Alex frowned slightly. “Pray for who?”   
  
She threw him a soft look, smiling a little sadly. “The ones that have lost someone.” After a beat, she added “I know the look.” Usually, he would have laughed at that, but now he didn’t. The woman turned towards the altar again.   
  
“And what are you doing here?” he managed to ask dryly after a brief silence, and she pointed at the choir.   
  
“Well, I’m here to listen to them. See the one with the frizzy hair? That’s my daughter.” She replied, smiling in that certain pride-is-not-the-word-I’m-looking-for way only parents and people in love could.  
  
He followed her finger with his eyes and spotted a little, dark-skinned girl with wild curls tied back like Laf’s, her hands fiddling with the hem of her dotted skirt, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. She had her eyes fixed upon the organ gallery at the back of the church as she was singing enthusiastically, her mouth wide open.  
  
_From Redwood Forest to Gulf Stream waters  
This land was made for you and me…  
  
_ Alex found himself smiling faintly. “She’s beautiful.” He managed, and the woman next to him grinned and nodded proudly. “She is. She’s going to blow us all away someday, that one.”  
  
He looked at her looking at her daughter, and found himself amazed at the way her eyes were glowing, and how she couldn’t get that smile off her face. If Rachel had ever looked at him that way, he’d never noticed.  
  
_Rachel.  
_  
He swore mentally when he realized she’d sneaked her way into his thoughts again and hurried to return to the conversation. “What’s her name?” he asked. The woman didn’t look at him while she answered. “Theodosia. Just like me.” When Alex frowned, trying hard not to think about his parents having done a similar thing with their first son, Theodosia shrugged and grinned. “My husband’s a sappy guy.”  
  
“Aren’t we all somehow.” He muttered, feverishly digging through his head for where he’d heard her name before. It was so familiar, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.  
  
There was a long silence after that, and when Theodosia finally lifted her voice again, it was a lot quieter than before, and there wasn’t a trace of a smile on her face when she looked at him seriously. “Who was it, if I may ask?” Alex felt his stomach drop. “Huh?”  
  
“The one you-“ She lowered her eyes, looking at the bench in front of them. “… the one you lost.”  
  
He swallowed hard, staring at his hands in his lap. His lips parted, and a breath escaped him. “My- my mother. She died three days ago.” That was the second time he had to say it to someone today; it was becoming more and more real, and he didn’t like that.   
  
He noticed that she was looking at him, her expression soft. “I… sorry for asking. And for your loss. I’m sorry.” She apologized, her voice quiet and genuine, and then silence lowered itself on them again like a blanket; Alex wiped at his nose and forgot to thank her for her condolences.  
  
“So… you’re praying now, or…”  
  
Alex looked up, met her eyes briefly and then quickly looked back down. “No. I don’t believe in God either, but she did, so… she’d buried here. I was actually thinking about visiting her grave, but...” he took a breath “I don’t think it’s such a good idea… just yet. Besides-“ he leaned back in the bench and looked at the altar, letting his eyes slip shut for a second.   
  
“I don’t think I’m actually capable of doing anything properly right now, and I would just stand and probably cry, and I don’t want that in- her presence. Since she died, it’s been costing me so much energy to even… like… talk, you know. It’s just all so- so exhausting. I was actually thinking about not talking to anyone ever again before you showed up, so.” There was a waver in his voice, and he rolled his eyes at himself. Theodosia chuckled quietly. “Well, sorry for disturbing your vow of silence in progress there.”  
  
Alex shrugged, trying and failing to smile. “It’s probably better this way. I’ve never been a quiet guy.” There was a silence; she eyed him, and then cast her eyes downward again, chewing on her wide lower lip for a second as if she was thoroughly considering her words.  
  
“You know, my parents… they’re very busy people.” She smiled at him hastily, almost a little apologetically, before continuing. “They were still in college when I was born, so when I was a kid, I spent most my time at my grandma’s. She practically raised me, she read to me and taught me how to garden and paint, she gave me my first camera and initiated basically all my interests in history and languages and stuff. She…”   
  
Theodosia took a breath, then huffed an incredulous laugh, as if she couldn’t believe it that she was telling all this to a stranger in a church. “… she died of a heart attack when I was twelve, and after that- Well, I did nothing but cry for days, and I moved back into my parents’ house, and they really tried to make me feel welcome and at home, and I’m very grateful for that, but- “ She shrugged. “I refused to arrive, sort of. I don’t know if it was a coping mechanism or if I was just an asshole-“  
  
“- I doubt it -“  
  
 “- but I didn’t say a word for two months. Not to anyone. I completely locked the world out to fix all of it just in my head.” He lifted an eyebrow and noticed he’d turned towards her a little; he was genuinely interested, and she seemed to notice, because she hurried to continue.  
  
“I’m not saying it’s a good idea for you to try and fight this fight all alone. I’m just saying…” She lifted her hands and dropped them again. “I think sometimes, it’s good to stay silent for a while. Words can’t express everything. But don’t stay silent forever, you hear me?” She finished quietly, and Alex noticed the choir had stopped singing; the conductor was speaking to the boys and girls for a moment, and both he and Theodosia watched silently as the boys and girls discarded.   
  
“So, you didn’t say a word? For _two months_?” he asked, softly, and she nodded. “Not one.” She was standing now, grabbing her purse she’s placed next to herself. They looked at each other, her smiling a quiet smile and his eyes big in silence until she finally said “See you around.” And turned and started fishing for something in her purse as she walked away.   
  
Alex stared after her while she made her way to the aisle; who was this woman? He’d heard her name, but he had never met her before, he was sure-  
  
“Mommy, Samuel kicked me in the shin again!”  
  
Theodosia looked up from her purse when a little girl came striding down the aisle towards her with a scowl on her face, her arms swinging in time with her steps. Her face lit up when she saw her; she slung her purse over her shoulder and crouched before her, holding a yellow windbreaker she’d been holding out to her.  
  
“Oh, sweetie!  Did you kick him back and tell him to keep his legs to himself?” She asked as her daughter wriggled into the jacket and nodded, grinning wolfishly. “I did.”  
  
Theodosia ruffled her hair, grinning back and muttering a fond “That’s my girl.” as she straightened, taking her daughter’s small hand into her own. “Now, let’s get you home. We’re having pizza, and Poppa’s probably already cooking. We don’t wanna miss that, do we?” Alex didn’t catch the little girl’s response anymore; the two of them were already nearing the exit, and then Theodosia was pushing the door open and they were disappearing into the evening.   
  
Alex sat for a while longer, thinking about what Theodosia had said while watching the children getting picked up by parents; he watched the conductor run a hand through her hair and put on a coat before leaving, too.  
  
He sat in the bench a while longer, crying a little and then stealing and lighting a candle for Theodosia, the little daughter and whoever the sappy, cooking husband was, then another one for Rachel before making his way down the side-ship and back out onto the street.  
  
  
JOHN WOKE UP AT 10 PM ON THE LIVING ROOM COUCH when he heard the apartment door fall shut. His head pressed into the green pillow, he lazily opened his eyes; the tiny white letters of the credits of a Stranger Things episode were making their way over the tv screen across the living room, and the fairy lights were on, and the jasmine tea he’d made himself earlier to stay awake was half empty and cold on the couch table. He had known the person at the door was Alex the second he’d woken up; the other boy’s steps and general behavior had a certain kind of furtiveness to them these days.   
  
When Peggy and Eliza had come to their place after getting wine, they had made Chili together, all silently waiting for Alex to return home; he hadn’t come, and after a while, Eliza had left after congratulating John on his acceptance letter to NYAA. Then Laf had went to bed, and then Herc, and Peggy had stayed with him for one episode of Stranger Things. He’d curled up in her lap and she’s carded her hands through his hair, every now and then whispering that she was sure Alex was alright and soon going to be home.  
When she’d left for bed, too, John had made himself tea and tried hard to stay awake and wait for Alex to come; he’d waited, and waited, and waited, and apparently fallen asleep in the process.  
  
John didn’t move his head out of the pillow when the other boy got rid of his shoes and jacket in the hall and then tiptoeing down the hallway. He didn’t look up and pretended to still be asleep with his eyes hooded as he stopped walking briefly to look at him and then turned and padded into the kitchen, where he started rummaging through the pantries for something to eat.   
  
John sat up, stretched his back and ran a hand through his hair with a small yawn, then stood slowly and followed Alex into the kitchen, watching him from the doorway and crossing his arms to shield himself from the coolness of the kitchen – the window was open and there was a moth circling the ceiling light.  
  
“I tried to wait up, you know. But it just took too long. Sorry.” He murmured, voice slurry with sleep. Alex stalled for a moment, then shrugged, putting his hands flat on the counter. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He replied quietly, his voice slightly hoarse. John knew why; he’d found his stash out on their mattress earlier and figured Alex had taken some. Not that he minded, it just irritated him a little; Alex had never seemed to like it.  
  
John pushed himself off the doorframe and walked towards him, leaning his hip against the counter and watching Alex open a shelf and close it again. “I was worried. You shouldn’t just disappear on us… on me that way. Where were you, anyway?” Alex didn’t look up, and just shrugged. “I… I was here and there. At the river, mostly. Just on a walk. It- it doesn’t matter.” He muttered; his voice sounded small and John immediately regretted having pushed him to talk. Alex was still not looking at him, and John reached for his hand, pulling him closer to himself and trying to kiss his cheek, but Alex wrenched out of his grasp and turned away, holding his hands at chest level and breathing deeply.  
  
“… Are you alright?” John asked lamely, and before he even finished his second word, Alex bit back “I’m fine.”  
  
John flinched, startled, being reminded of yesterday morning. He reached for him again, and Alex pulled away again, causing his heart to clench. _No.  
  
What are you doing? Why aren’t you letting me touch you? What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong this time?   
  
I’m such an idiot, I should just leave him alone. Jesus, can’t I ever do anything right?  
  
_ There was a long silence; John watched Alex’ shoulders heave, looked at his hair that had fallen loose from his bun, and wished for him to turn around. _Turn around. Look at me._  
  
“Please-“ Alex attempted, but left off again, drawing in a rattling breath. “John- I’m so sorry. I just, I can’t right now. _Please_.” He kept repeating himself, and John could tell something was different; Alex was too silent, and of course, he was in shock, John understood that, but he was never this silent. _He loves words. He loves them so much, why isn’t he using them to tell me about what it going on inside him? Why can’t he at least try to explain it to me?  
  
Look at me.   
  
Look at me, let me see you, don’t lock me out like this, you know it terrifies me. Can’t you see? What am I doing wrong, God, Alex, why aren’t you talking to me?  
  
Please, just look at me_ he wanted to say, but instead he only managed a quiet “Okay. I get it.” – though he didn’t. Why wouldn’t Alex let him help him? – “I’m sorry. Leftovers are in the fridge. Should I warm them up for you?” with his head feeling light and his chest tight.   
_  
_ Alex shook his head; more hair fell loose form his bun. John could tell he was fighting back tears. “I can do it myself.” He replied shakily, and then he was staggering away from John and towards the fridge, his violently shaking hands fighting with the handle, and when he didn’t manage to even open it, letting out frustrated little breathy noises, John walked towards him, and took his hand, holding on to it tightly when he tried to get away and sat him down at the kitchen table where Alex stared at the bright, coffee-stained wooden surface, brushing tears away from his eyes when they wanted to roll down his cheeks.  
  
John opened the fridge and got out the bowl of chili they’d left for him, glancing at Alex over his shoulder every now and then as if he was scared he’d disappear if he didn’t check if he was still there every few seconds. He warmed the bowl up in the microwave, cut two slices of bread and warmed up a glass of milk with honey for Alex’ sore throat.   
  
He put the food down in front of Alex, sat opposite of him and watched him eat in silence; the bright white room light of the kitchen suddenly struck him as unpleasant and awkward, but it was the only light in the kitchen, so he had no other option than to leave it on.  
  
Alex ate the bowl clean without looking at him even once; it was almost as if he was ashamed of something, and John was feverishly digging through his memories of the day; had anything happened at the funeral, or was it something else, something on his walk, something from inside his head, had he gotten a text he didn’t want to get?  
  
He was still trying to wrap his mind around it when Alex suddenly stood and carried the empty bowl and glass to the counter, lazily washing them off in the sink. John watched him, silently begging him to stop his silent treatment, but he didn’t seem to notice at all. Was John somehow repulsive to him? What had happened, what had he done wrong?  
  
There were a thousand questions on his tongue, but he didn’t manage to bring a single one of them past the lump in his throat. He simply stared, chewing on his lower lip to fight back the tears of frustration prickling in his eyes as Alex walked to the door, turning briefly to mutter something along the lines of “I’m going to bed, okay?”   
  
John sat up straighter and forced himself to smile at him a little, causing him to cast his eyes downward. “Do you want me to come with you?” he managed, and Alex just shrugged, disappearing in the hallway.  
  
John looked after him, not able to hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. _Where is this coming from? What happened, tell me, I need to know. Don’t I deserve to know? I love you, don’t you mind? What did I not notice, what did I do?_   
  
_What did I do wrong?_  
  
He sat in the bright, quiet kitchen, crying and listening to Alex brushing his teeth and washing his face; the toilet flushed, and the water in the sink ran, and a door clapped, then another; Alex was in bed.  
  
John let out a deep breath he hadn’t known he’d held, and stood shakily, turning off the lights in the kitchen and staggering down the hallway to the bathroom; he brushed his teeth and his hair and washed his face and his hands and stood in the hallway in front of their door for approximately five minutes, afraid to go in.   
  
When he did, it was dark in the room; Alex was breathing calmly, but John knew he was still awake.   
  
The window was cracked, and Alex’ clothes were folded neatly on a chair by the dresser. John turned his back towards the mattress and stripped down to his boxers; he pulled some t-shirt from the floor over his head and crawled into bed, careful not to cause the mattress to move too much, for some reason getting onboard with the illusion of Alex being asleep.   
  
He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chest, tucking his arm beneath his head and watched Alex’ back. The entire length of the mattress was between them, and it made John want to cry again; he wanted nothing more than to reach out and cradle his Alex in his arms, and hold him, hold him and soothe him and grant him peace of mind until he was looking at him again, until he was smiling again.   
  
_I want him to be okay so badly. You told me to take care of him, but how do I do that if he doesn’t let me? I love him so much, you know, so much, and I want him to be happy so badly. Why won’t he let me help him?  
  
What, oh, tell me, what did I do wrong?  
_  
He fell asleep a while later; Alex was three feet away, and his chest was cold, everything was cold.  
  
_What do you think, Rachel? Maybe he just needs time. Maybe he’ll come around eventually. Just you wait, John, you’re good at waiting. Maybe all he needs is time.  
_  
And maybe it was. John knew that what Alex probably needed the most right now was time and space; space to sort out some of those thoughts in his head. So, when he woke up in the morning, and Alex and half his books and all his clothes were gone, he didn’t scream and he didn’t call him and he didn’t cry.   
  
He just sat and held his bare knees in the bed that still carried Alex’ warmth in its sheets and stared at the wall, his jaw set, and told himself that Alex would be back; that all he needed was time.  
  
  
IF ALEX’ LIFE WAS A MOVIE, he was sure the days following his mother’s funeral and meeting Theodosia at the church and moving back into his own apartment would be the part summed up in a compilation of brief, soundless, cinematically semi-interesting clips of him sitting in places, staring at nothing in particular, crying or dissociating with some minor instrumental song mainly consisting of single chords played on a piano in the background; it was the part where he didn’t come into work; where he didn’t really do anything, didn’t think and didn’t talk to anyone, and in which the director just wouldn't bother to keep telling the story.  
  
When he first set foot into his apartment again, it made him feel strange; when he’d moved out, he’d left only the furniture and his duvet on the unfolded futon, and when he came on that Saturday morning and pulled up the blinds and opened the windows and sat his backpack and cardboard box down on the dust covered floor, he felt a little like he was moving into a hotel room; a temporary home without memories and proper tableware.  
  
On Saturday, he spent the day moving back in; he took his clothes and duvet downstairs to the dry cleaning shop on the ground floor of the building and stashed his books at the wall by his futon, sorting them by authors in alphabet order and went to sleep without eating anything at 3pm. When he woke up at 11pm, his stomach growling with hunger, he took a shower, got himself Chinese takeout from across the street and got out his laptop when he was back home, slowly eating the noodles he’d ordered with the chopsticks he’s gotten at the restaurant and starting to write an alternative ending to his story where Jones didn’t die.   
  
He went back to bed at 3am and fell into a light, dreamless sleep.   
  
The next morning, he got up early, dressed himself and went for breakfast in a coffee shop that was not the Café Adrienne; he was too scared he would meet John there. He couldn’t look him in the eye after yesterday evening, and his other friends would probably tell him Alex had showed if he did. So he ate in a small, cheap bakery and then made his way to the hospital, realizing only when he was in the elevator that there was no reason to go there anymore. He staggered back to his apartment and lowered himself and his heavy limbs on the futon, asking himself what he was supposed to do with his time if he couldn’t visit Rachel anymore. He ended up cleaning the apartment; scrubbing the tiles in the kitchen and bathroom and hovering in the main room and hall, cleaning windows and sitting on the windowsill with his legs outside when he was done, drinking too strong coffee; he had the pot next to him, and every time his mug was empty, he poured another one, watching the sky turn from blue to purple to grey to black and telling himself that he didn’t need anyone; even though when he said that to himself quietly, his voice was barely audible and nothing but a rasp whisper.   
  
“I don’t need help” he croaked to himself and the deafening silence of the apartment, sliding off the windowsill and staggering to the kitchen to boil another cup of coffee. “I don’t need help. I can manage on my own.”  
  
He didn’t sleep at all that night; he lay awake and stared at the ceiling and cried into his pillow and wished for someone to be there.   
  
On Monday, he was faced for the first time after Friday with having nothing to do; and since there was nothing to keep his mind busy, to focus on, the thoughts came like hyenas, creeping around where he was wrapped in his own arms, rocking and crying on the futon.  
  
They howled in his ears, bared their teeth and screamed accusations, asking him why he had left John behind like this, why he hadn’t called James earlier, why he hadn’t stopped Adams when he had the chance, why he hadn’t stopped George from leaving, why he hadn’t spent more time with Rachel when he could, why he hadn’t asked her where she’d gotten those bruises on her legs and arms and tummy when he noticed them for the first time that he now knew had been from her cancer, why he hadn’t made his father stay, why he didn’t do something when he could, why he had watched and waited, incapable of stopping Rachel’s sickness from growing, unable to do anything.  
  
When Alex told them to go away, they snarled, and laughed, and whispered in their sweet, syrupy voices, asking him how they could go away if they were part of him; how he could even wish them away if they were his own thoughts. And since Alex didn’t know what to say to that, he dropped his head into the pillow and let them do what they had to.  
  
The days blurred into each other, and he let them.  
  
Monday turned into Tuesday, and Alex watched the fireworks of Independence Day rise into the sky from his spot on his futon. Tuesday turned into Wednesday; he didn’t go out, he didn’t eat because he had nothing in his apartment and the thought of having to talk to the delivery guy if he ordered something made him shake with fear. The hyenas were there all the time now.   
  
Alex desperately did his best to keep himself busy, and to chase them off with listening to loud music; he went out to buy a pack of painkillers and took three of them at once, hoping they would quiet his thoughts down; but they only made him feel weak and tired, so he drank pints of coffee and alternated between taking ice cold showers and pinching his wrists to keep himself awake, because when he was asleep, the hyenas would come from the dark corners they’d waited in, and they’d have grown and increased in number. He wrote and cried, because of the black hole in his chest but mostly because of how exhausted he was. He drank coffee, then switched it for vodka to numb his brain, and wished for the warmth of John’s touch.  
  
He didn’t sleep on Wednesday, and not on Thursday, either; by Friday, he was too exhausted to stand. The lack of food, sleep and human contact had him out of breath at the tiniest of movements. He sat in bed, his back braced against the wall, surrounded by empty mugs and tissues, his laptop and the halfway finished happy ending letter on his notebook in his lap and his glasses on, but he couldn’t read; the words blurred into each other in front of his eyes. They were meaningless and shallow to him, and the letters deformed when his eyelids kept falling shut, sleepless nights weighing heavily upon them like ranges of mountains; then, the words would turn into the hyenas, and he would rip his eyes back open; he’d rather stay awake for the rest of time and die of sleep deprivation than listening to what his mind had to say.  
  
On Saturday, a week after Alex had moved back into his own place, he got a text.   
  
He was in the shower, sitting beneath the ice-cold spray since his legs had given out at some point when he heard his ever-silent phone make a sound from where it was in his sweatpants on the bathroom floor. He turned off the water and climbed out of the shower, shivering and grabbing a towel that he wrapped himself in before kneeling and grabbing his phone with both his hands.   
  
**JLau**  
Hey  
I know I should just leave you alone but I’m so worried  
Can you please come downstairs or idk turn the lights in your apartment off and back on once because I’m at your door and I won’t make you talk to me or try to touch you or get anywhere near you, but I just need to make sure you’re still alive  
  
Alex stared at the bright display of his phone, his thumbs hovering above the keyboard, shaking hard. They were always shaking; it was July, and he was constantly cold. He looked at the screen and at John’s profile pic – a turtle emoji – and felt his lower lip shake at the want, the sheer _need_ to run staggeringly down the stairs and fling himself into John’s arms and cry into his shoulder and let him take him back to their place, their _home_ , and make him tea and brush his teeth and change his clothes and put him to bed and let the warmth of John’s arms around him at night chase the hyenas away; maybe he would finally, _finally_ be able to sleep when John was there.  
  
He was already lowering his thumb, his chin quivering hard as he shook his head slowly, face twisted. _Alex, no. No, you can’t ask him for help now. You have to leave him alone, he’s tired of you, can’t you see? He’s tired of you, because all you do is hurt him, and worry him, so just leave him alone. You’re such a burden, please, leave him alone._   
  
_You don’t even deserve this, you don’t deserve to be helped. You didn’t help Rachel when you could, did you? Then do you really deserve help?  
  
_ A sob escaped his lips as he uttered a broken “No, I don’t.” and locked it, letting go of his phone and pushing it into his sweatpants that he wriggled into after standing.  
  
Dripping, he staggered out of the bathroom, past his mirror that was covered in a hoodie because sometime this week, he’d looked into it and let out a small yelp at how pale and skinny and empty he looked – he’d been able to count the bags beneath his eyes – and to the main room, where he collapsed on his futon and buryed himself beneath his duvet. He pressed his head into the pillow and closed his eyes and let the noise of his thoughts flood his tired, tired mind.  
  
He didn’t flash the lights and he didn’t go downstairs, even though he wanted to so badly it made his heart ache.   
  
Alex let the howling hyenas sing him to a light sleep.  
  
Half an hour later, he awoke when his phone dinged, announcing another text. He somehow managed, if slowly, to open his eyes and reach into the pocket of his sweatpants; everything hurt, and he flinched away when the light of the screen came on. He reached around next to the futon for his glasses, meanwhile unlocking his phone, and placed them on his face before opening the message.  
  
**JLau  
** Alex, you have no idea how worried I am. I need to know you are alive; I just need to know, because not knowing where you are, and where we stand, it’s going to break me. Please, I’m begging you, please just come over; We can have Indian takeout and I’ll even called the delivery guy, please just come here so I can stop worrying. I love you so much and I’m so sorry for everything you’re going through, but it feels like this is it. You know what I mean; it feels like you’re breaking up with me – which is the last thing I want – and I know you’re confused and in shock and grieving, but I think if that’s the case, and we’re ending here, then I think I deserve an explanation.   
Or if it’s not the case, then I’m guessing you don’t want me to try to comfort you. I mean, it’s hard, but I can try not to do it, just  
Come home. I miss you so much.  
  
When Alex had finished reading, he slowly put his phone down and took off his reading glasses, rolled onto his back laboriously, eyes fixed on the ceiling until he let them slip shut. He placed his wrist over his face, took a breath and made a decision.  
  
This had to stop.  
  
Alex didn’t want to leave John. But he knew that whatever he was going to do, he was just going to hurt him, and then he would hate him, and it would break both of them forever.   
  
Alex didn’t intend to let this get that far, though. He knew what he had to do.  
  
After a while, he stood and got dressed slowly, a little rusty from finally moving after such a long time of just laying around. He pulled his large army backpack out of the drawer he’d put it in last week and packed the necessities, his savings and clothes and a couple of books. Then he packed another bag, a smaller one with the beanie Herc had given him on a rainy Friday afternoon months ago and John’s green hoodie he’d been wearing and crying into the past week. He drank a cup of coffee, standing at the window; the hyenas were quiet, and he felt weirdly calm, the street full of rush-hour traffic but silenced by the distance of four floors and the glass of the window.   
  
He left the cup in the sink; he took his painkillers and then made his way downstairs, the small bag over his shoulder.   
  
Like John had said; he deserved an explanation.  
  
  
AFTER HAVING WAITED OUTSIDE ALEX’ DOOR FOR TWENTY MINUTES with his head tipped back to look at Alex’ windows on the fourth floor, waiting for any kind of life sign, John left again. His head down and lips pressed tightly shut to stop himself form screaming in frustration, he strolled through the warm, busy evening.  
  
Ever since Alex had left last Saturday, he’d been the only thing John could think about. He wasn’t thinking about him continuously, but Alex was such a profound and large part of his life that the situations of his everyday life seemed somewhat lacking without him. There were empty spaces in his bookshelf, his dresser and his bed, in the kitchen and bathroom in the morning, at work, in the shower and on the living room couch.   
  
Alex’ disappearance had left holes that burned hotter the longer he was gone.   
  
John had been patient for so long; he’d constantly been there for Alex, and he’d lost his mind worrying, but he’s kept his mouth shut and given Alex everything he needed. He knew he’d been so patient, and he didn’t want it to, but now, just when it was the most important time for him to simply quietly understand and accept why Alex was acting the way he was acting, he felt his patience slipping away.   
  
It made him angry; at Alex, for being so childish and locking him out like this, of course, but mostly at himself. He knew how important it was to give Alex the space he needed right now, but he _couldn’t_. He just couldn’t. It was too much, it made him feel sick to not be able to make sure he was safe and not beating himself up over something or doing something to himself; to not be able to hold him at night and tell him he loved him and that nothing that had happened was to blame on him.   
  
All his friends seemed to understand that Alex was pulling back from them like this; they were worried, but they didn’t cry themselves to sleep at night praying Alex was okay. They wondered how he was doing, but they didn’t type out novels on whatsapp and not send them in the end every few hours. They asked themselves how they should fill the gaps in their routines that Alex used to inhabit, but they continue their lives without him, anyway; they could convince themselves that he would come around eventually.   
  
John tried to do the same, but found himself unable to. He was only half conscious most of the time; walked into things and spilled coffee, cut flowers in half by accident and dropped vases and drew sloppy doodles and blamed it all on himself, not Alex, never Alex.   
  
He told himself that he should be grown up enough to know how Alex was feeling. And he did understand it, but that didn’t mean he could process it properly and make his peace with it. He was restless, apprehensive and he missed him, _God_ , he missed him so much, and he felt ridiculous for it.   
  
He was so dependent on the other boy, had gotten so frustrated and desperate over the course of seven days that that Saturday evening, when he was alone in the apartment – Herc, Peggy and Laf having left in favor of a movie night with Eliza and Maria at their place – he typed another one of those novels of his. This time, he sent it, and went to sit on the couch in the living room, staring at his phone and waiting for a reply.  
  
John startled when half an hour later, instead of his phone, the doorbell rang.   
  
He jumped up from his place on the couch and tripped over himself in the hallway as he hurried to the front door, unbolted it and then stalled for a moment.   
  
Maybe it wasn't actually Alex; maybe it was the postman, or one of his other friends. He wanted it to be Alex so badly, though. He needed to see him, and so he opened the door slowly, a little out of breath.   
  
It was Alex, and John thought he was going to cry with relief.   
  
The other boy looked up from the tips of his shoes when the door opened. Their eyes met and Alex managed the tiniest of sheepish smiles.   
  
“Hey” he muttered; his voice was rasp, like he’d been smoking or crying a lot. John just stared at him, eyes wide; he was so happy to see him. All he could say in return was a soft “Hey.” of his own. It took all his willpower, but he somehow managed to catch himself just in time before he lunged forward to hug Alex. There was a moment of slightly uncomfortable silence, and John pushed the door a little further open, gesticulating inside the apartment a little vaguely.   
  
"Do you... um, why don't you come inside?" he stammered. _Jesus, John. This is not the fucking first time he’s here, get a grip, you’re being pathetic._   
  
Alex nodded quickly, and sneaked past him through the door. When he passed, a cooler draft of air came into the a little too warm apartment with him, and John felt his eyelids flutter for a second when he inhaled Alex' scent; he smelled like vanilla and coffee and oh, he smelled like home and him and he was here, he was here.   
  
After a beat, though, John noticed another smell, a sharp one that stung in his nose and which he recognized as alcoholic with a frown. _Why does he smell like vodka? Has he been drinking? God, what has he been doing to himself?  
_  
Alex stood in the hall a little stiffly. His shoulders were slightly hunched like he was afraid of something, like he was expecting John to be angry. There was a pull in John’s stomach; he wanted so badly to shake him and shout _I’m not, I’m not angry at you, I’m just terrified and I wish you would talk to me_! as he eyed Alex’ small frame, and started noticing the little things, things that made the warmth that had settled in his chest when he'd seen Alex stand outside the door glow out slowly.   
  
The other boy had clearly lost weight; his clothes hung off his body like oversized wizard robes, and his shoulders almost seemed a little bony. He was pale and his beard messily trimmed, and the bags beneath his eyes didn’t have their usual blue-brownish tone but more of a greyish color. He was carrying a small, plain jute bag, which caused John's frown to deepen. The last time Alex had moved in, he’d had a huge green army backpack. Where had he put all his stuff this time?   
  
_Maybe he isn’t here to move back in, after all._   
  
John quickly chased the thought away when he felt his heartbeat pace up with anxiety. What was more important anyway was what Alex had been doing to make himself look like this; had he been sleeping at all? John felt sick just thinking about what the past week must have been like for him.   
  
“Uh, we’ll… do you want to order something? I would cook, but you know I suck at that, so…” he tried to joke lamely. Alex shook his head softly. “I… I’m not actually hungry- sorry.” he said quietly to the floor, and John could tell it was a lie; Alex really looked like he hadn’t slept or eaten in a week. He looked weak and only half awake, but John, feeling a little sick, just nodded quickly. “That’s fine, we… you seem tired, do you want to just go to bed?”  
  
Alex opened his mouth, searching for words, still looking at the floor with big, tired eyes. He seemed like being here was the last thing he wanted. John's heart clenched into a fist. “No, I don’t. John, listen…”  
  
He left off again, looking slightly lost and frantic when John nodded. “That’s- that’s fine, did you want some tea, maybe? Peggy bought this new Jasmine stuff from the shop that opened down the street- that… you don't know about yet because you were... well, anyway, do you want a cup?" He was already walking down the hallway, glancing over his shoulder to check if Alex was following him. He was, slowly and reluctantly, and stayed in the living room while John went into the kitchen to boil water with slightly. He noticed he was shaking when he took the two cups out of the pantry and almost dropped the red "Daddy No.1" one Alex liked so much.   
  
He tried to breathe deeply and put his hands flat on the counter, closing his eyes for a brief moment, mentally starting to put together a small bouquet of peonies and white roses and large leaves. _It's going to be fine, John.  
  
You're going to have tea, and you're going to apologize for whatever it is you've done wrong, and he's going to forgive you and then you'll talk about what’s going to happen next, and he'll move back in and you won't try to fix him but hold his hand while he fixes himself, and it's going to be fine, it's all going to be fine.   
  
He loves you. And you love him, and it's going to be so fine.  
_  
John took a shaky breath, reopened his eyes slowly and grabbed the kettle a moment later when they’d adjusted to the warm sunlight spilling into the kitchen from the living room. He filled the two cups with hot water and added the teabags, then, feeling weirdly uncomfortable and warm, ran a hand through his hair and put it up into a bun before picking the cups up and taking them to the living room, careful not to spill anything.   
  
He came in when Alex was bent over the couch table, taking his green hoodie and a grey beanie out of the bag he'd been carrying and putting them down on the table. John felt his brows furrow; his feet suddenly felt very heavy and he froze in the doorway, looking at Alex, the cups at chest level.   
  
"Wh... what are you doing?”   
  
He was surprised at how normal his voice sounded; it was firm and only a tad bit insecure despite the knot he felt was in his tongue that he couldn’t remember having been there before.   
  
Alex looked up from the couch table a little frantically, meeting John’s gaze.   
  
“I’m just returning some things.” He said, very quietly, and that’s when John knew. He knew that Alex wasn’t here to move back in. He wasn’t here to accept the apologies John would say, and nothing would be fine, because he wasn’t here to come back.  
  
  
He was here because he was leaving.   
  
He was here because he was leaving for good.  
  
  
John didn’t realize he had dropped the cups in his hands until they hit the ground and broke with a terrible, cracking sound, and suddenly, his socks were wet and warm and his shaking hands were left empty, and he was still motionlessly staring at Alex.  
  
“You’re not moving back in.” John rasped, and Alex’ face fell, slowly. He shook his head, and after a beat, he whispered “I’m sorry, J-“, but John cut him off.   
  
“No.” he gasped, shaking his head slowly, then faster. Alex looked like he was going to start crying; he knew that John had figured it out. He took a step towards him, then strode over and pushed past him into the kitchen to get a towel.  
  
John blinked; his lips had parted, and he was staring at the clothes on the couch table. Alex was rummaging through the shelves and John asked himself if this was really happening. He slowly looked down at the puddle of tea he was standing in and then, mechanically, leaned against the doorframe and pulled off his wet socks, stepping away from the door when Alex came back with a towel.   
  
He crouched down on the floor to wipe up the tea and pick up the remains of the cups, but it was so much water, he was just pushing it around, and his jeans were getting soaked, but he still didn’t stop. John watched him, his vision becoming slightly blurry. He held on to the wall and shook his head to himself. _No.  
  
No, this can’t be happening. Not like this, not now, no, God, no. _  
  
“Don’t do this.” John managed; there was a pleading tone to his voice. Alex didn’t look up from the floor and the movement of the drenched kitchen towel through the spilled tea.  
  
John’s knees felt like they were going to give out. He took a shaky breath.   
  
“Please. _Please_ , don’t do this. I’m begging you, Alex, please don’t leave.” His voice was growing more and more quiet, and he closed his eyes wearily, very aware of his breathing and heartbeat and the shaking of his knees and hands and heart.  
  
“It’s not like you didn’t see it coming.” Alex had stopped moving his hand; he was just sitting there in the puddle on the floor, motionless and slumped into himself, and John blinked; he felt his blood starting to boil.   
  
_Is he fucking kidding?_   
  
He wanted to run towards Alex and grab his shoulder and spin him around and shake him and scream -  
  
“What the fuck, Alex? Are-“ He let out a huff, and Alex glanced at him over his shoulder.   
  
“Are you actually kidding me? How should I have seen this coming?” The sound of his voice was foreign to him – its volume and the low, shaking tone it carried so well. He was surprised at himself at first; he never got angry. He was John, he was Laurens, he was the wallflower who drew and cried and didn’t get angry. It was always him who wanted to keep everyone’s voice as low and calm as possible, and keep everything peaceful, but right now, he didn’t care if he kept quiet. All he cared about was how unfair it was that Alex was leaving, how ridiculously unfair and childish and-  
  
“Well, for example, when you met me, I had this _mother_ , and she was terminal, and…” Alex had stood. When had he stood? The towel was still on the floor.   
  
“…and I was fucking depressed and you knew I was going to be a piece of work from the very beginning. I’m not an easy person to like, I know that. I am complicated, and, and I have a temper and- I am loud and annoying and depressing and I have issues and I- there’s so many reasons, just so many, so you should have known this wasn’t going to last forever. Why would you want it to, anyway?”   
  
John swallowed at his words. “You’re twisting everything, you’re making it ugly.”  
  
“Jesus.” Alex ran a hand through his hair, and John could see him swallow hard from across the room. “ _Fuck_ , John. The point is that… I have to sort out some things in my head, and… I gotta do that on my own. Do you understand? I can’t do that when you’re around, because when you’re around, I can’t fucking think straight. You’re always… I don’t know, you’re always trying so hard to help, and I appreciate that, but I think I need to manage this by myself. I’m too old to need help. I don’t want to need help. So…” he took a breath, his left hand coming up to the back of his neck. “… so I’m leaving. We talked about this so much. Isn’t it what we both knew was going to happen? I’m just doing what you always expected me to do.”  
  
John shook his head again. He knew he was crying now, but it was angry crying, it was frustrated crying, because what kind of shitty reason was that? What was he talking about? It wasn’t even a reason, it was not an excuse, or an explanation; it was the move of a coward who didn’t want to face the fact that maybe, just maybe, _people needed people_ , and that maybe, he was just another human who had lost someone and was confused and astray and needed time and comfort and someone to hold on to, to tell him some things lasted.   
  
“What kind of shitty excuse is that?” John heard himself ask lowly. “Alex, you can't just put your words into my mouth like that. I never said that I expect you to leave. I- I don't want you to leave. I'm sure we can figure this out. You want space, I'll give you space. You can move back to your own place, and we can take a break, and I'll leave you alone if that's what you want but-" John cut himself off, burying his face in his hands. He was begging again; begging him to stay. He wanted to roar at him and hurt him and be angry, but maybe he was just not made to be angry at Alex.  
  
_And he's not meant to be angry at me. We're supposed to be in love. That's how we coexist, that's how it works, how can it be that he's forgotten that?_  
  
"John, listen..." Alex' voice was softer now, but there was something shimmering below the surface; like he was just trying to contain himself. "I’m just going to hurt you."  
  
John lifted his head, sniffling. Alex was looking at him; his jaw was set. "What-" John sighed, confused; he pressed his hand to his forehead.   
  
Alex shrugged slowly, painedly. "I’m going to hurt you, because that’s what I do. I hurt people. I break things, and I don’t do anything to stop bad things form happening. I’m a horrible person, John, I’m horrible, and I don’t deserve you.”  
  
John moved his hands to cover his mouth, closed his eyes and buried the sob trying to move up his throat deep inside himself. “Stop.” he managed. He heard Alex move closer and automatically took a step back, bumping into the bookshelf.  
  
“You’re way too good for me. I’m- I’m such a mess, John, I’m too broken for you. A good person wouldn’t push you away, and a good person would think about someone other than themselves for a second, and a good person would be able to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”   
  
John just wanted him to stop. He just wanted him to shut up and come home _. Please, stay. Please, come home to me._   
  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
  
Alex ran a hand through his hair, glanced sideways and then back at John. “I can’t stay here. I can’t, John, I- it’ll only get worse. I mean, look at you. How worried you were, and I was only gone for a week. I can’t keep doing this to you- you’ll find someone better than me, I promise. There’s so many better people out there, people you won’t have to fix. People who aren’t me. I’m a child, John, can’t you see? I’m just come pathetic, little, broken child, and you’re worth so much more than that. You’ll find someone better than me.”  
  
There was a beat of silence. John opened his eyes and looked at Alex through his wet lashes.   
   
“But I don’t want… someone better, I don’t want ‘people’, I want you.” John whispered. Alex sighed, and John could tell their conversation was coming to an end. It would have made him laugh in another life; how pathetic, that this was all he got; two broken cups of tea, the worst excuse humankind had ever seen and barely fifteen minutes before the love of his life walked out of the door. This was what he got for all the kisses, the words of comfort and the morning coffees, the days and nights, bouquets and dates, shared clothes and showers and bagels, all the drawings and times he'd listened to Alex laugh or sing or moan or read to him, the times he’d seen him blush or cry or smile or wake up. This was all he got for the love he felt for this boy. This was all he got; it was ridiculous.  
  
“Please, don’t do this.” He tried again. He couldn’t move; his back was pressed against the bookshelf, and his voice was so quiet, so, so quiet, he wasn’t even sure if Alex had heard it.   
  
He didn’t move an inch. And Alex said a last, slow “I’ll always love you.” and then he was turning around, and walking down the hall, and a second later, the front door fell shut.   
  
With the door closing, something inside John’s chest sunk into itself; a blossom, closing when the sun went down, a child’s hand reaching for something when there was nothing other on its palm than thin, empty air.  
  
His knees gave in and he found himself on the floor and his head in his hands and nothing on his tongue to fill the silence but a soft, wounded, too late shout of Alex’ name, and a final “Please don’t go”  
  
  
THE SECOND ALEX SHUT THE DOOR BEHIND HIMSELF,  HE WISHED TO RIP IT BACK OPEN and run to the living room where he could hear John sobbing his name. He wanted to help John up and apologize; apologize a thousand times and kiss him and help him clean up the tea on the floor and keep apologizing and sleep on the couch and hope that one day, John could forgive him. He wanted so badly to see him again and let him know how sorry he was. But he didn’t; and his feet carried him away from the door and down the familiar stairs and out of the building, and he cried on the entire way home to his apartment.  
  
While he staggered down the sidewalk through the evening, people turning to stare at him and cars rushing by, he tried to figure out what to do next; where to go.  
  
He had to get out of the city, that was for sure; Rachel was all over the place and the hyenas were everywhere. But where could he go? He was an immigrant who had spent all his post-graduation life avoiding people he knew from school. He had no friends except the ones he could never turn to again; he had an apartment, but his friends knew where it was. _Where should I go, what should I do?_  
  
_Out of the city. As far away as possible._  
  
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and pushed the door to his building open when he reached it; he went upstairs to retrieve the backpack he’d packed earlier. On the first floor, he left his keys and a brief letter in Mr. Dipnalls mailbox, and then he left; took the subway to Manhattan Grand Central and sat in an aesthetically repulsive 24 hours coffee shop for a while, his backpack at his feet. He bought an espresso that he occasionally sipped on while he watched people run through the station, hurrying to catch their night trains and listened as the first messages came to his phone.   
  
After half an hour, when the barista was already looking at him suspiciously, he heard an announcement over the speakers; a train number 452 to Philadelphia main station was arriving forty minutes late, and Alex remembered an email he’d gotten months ago; now he knew where he was going.   
  
He left the coffee shop and made his way through the semi-busy station to the ticket offices. He got himself a third-class ticket for the next train leaving to Philly and went to the platform afterwards, sitting down on one of the benches and getting his phone out of his pocket; he unlocked it, ignored the almost thirty messages immediately jumping into his face and dialed Eliza’s number.  
  
It rang a few times before she picked up.  
  
“Alex?”   
  
He could hear in her voice that she was hadn’t expected to hear from him any time soon. He wiped his nose and hurried to reply. “Hey, Lizzy. Uh, I… I need a favor.” He murmured, his own voice startling him. It was broken and hoarse and shaky, and he could practically hear Eliza frown.   
  
“Um… of course, what is it?”  
  
He took a deep breath, letting his eyes slip shut. _Don’t start fucking crying now, Hamilton. Not right now. Yes, her voice sounds soft and caring and familiar and yes, you just want to tell her, and yes, maybe she would let you sleep at her place and you could go apologize to John tomorrow, but that’s not why you’re calling. Stick to the damn plan.  
  
_ “I’m leaving town for a while, and- can you maybe find someone new to take my job?” There was a beat of silence, then Eliza huffed an incredulous laugh. “Um, maybe, where are you going?”  
  
“I- I don’t quite know yet.” He lied. He hated lying to Eliza; she always knew immediately when something was off, and Alex’ voice was quivering now, and he had to reach up to wipe a tear away from his eye.   
  
_God, Hamilton. What have you done? What have you done to him? How could you do this?  
_  
The sound of his own thoughts, sly and knowing just what damage he’d done send him over the edge; a sob came past his lips. He heard Eliza shift slightly. “Alex, are you crying? What happened?”  
  
Alex pressed his free hand to his mouth to muffle a gasp and shook his head at no one in particular. “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving. I’m leaving him.” It felt strange to say it out loud; surreal and stupid. How had it come to this? Why had he allowed this to happen? His lips were quivering. _I love him, I love him so much, this is illogical and stupid and I should just go back and apologize but I can’t now, I can’t go back now. He’ll hate me. No, he probably already hates me, and he has every right to. He hates me, but I love him, and that’s why I can’t go back-_  
  
“Are you… talking about John? Did you guys fight?”  
  
Alex, at a loss of words, huffed a wet laugh, pulling the phone away from his ear. The platform was growing busy; in the distance, Alex could see the train rolling into the station. “I guess you could say so. I’m hanging up now.”  
  
“Alex, wait! No, we can figure this out. You don’t have to go!”  
  
“Give your sisters my love. Oh, and I never thanked Burr for getting Adams fired, maybe you could do that for me? You’re the best, Lizzy.” There was a sharp sigh on the other end of the line.  
  
“Alex. Listen. You’re sad, you’re confused, I’m begging you, come over. You can stay at our place tonight and we’ll figure this out.” She was desperately searching for a calm tone, but her voice was hitching, and he stifled a sob.   
  
“I’m sorry, Eliza. I have to leave.” He breathed. The train was pulling up to the platform.   
  
“Alexander!”  
  
“Tell John I love him.” He managed, the words slurring together as he uttered them, and then he hung up and pushed his phone back into his pocket, pulled his hood over his head and waited for the doors to open. Ten minutes later, he boarded the train and soon found his seat.   
  
He had his headphones on, but he wasn’t listening to music. His mind, for once, was quiet, too; silenced by the sound of him whispering to himself as he fell asleep against the train window, still crying.   
  
_Please forgive me, John. Forgive me, forgive me.  
  
Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.   
  
Forgive me._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry. 
> 
> This chapter has me in fucking tears. I worked so long on this and it was so hard to get down because I honestly love my characters and I want them to be happy so badly that I was just so reluctant towards what I was writing that it probably didn't turn out that good. But it had to happen. I'm sorryyy.
> 
> I hope y'all are okay. There's just one more sad chapter that you have to get through, and even though it might not look like it, this has a happy ending, I promise! I hope you can forgive me (and Alex omg someone give him a huG OH BOY) 
> 
> Hang in there, ily and I'll see you in two weeks. ♥♥♥


	16. Two months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Alex, separated, heartbroken and both regretful, try and fail to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I said it was only going to be /one/ week and I know it's Tuesday again okay but look I can explain
> 
> So a) I just came back from my trip and tried to finally get some proper sleep, b) I wanted to make this as good as possible, which it is not, because out of anxiety about it not turning out the way I wanted it to, I procrastinated writing it until like... three days ago and c) I'm sorry please don't hate me.
> 
> Then, secondly, I would just like to thank y'all for the absolutely incredible response to the last chapter (and in general, I mean wOW I'm overwhelmed), and I am so, so sorry for what happened in the last chapter, I'll make it up to you. I hope you're okay, friends!? I love you!! ♥
> 
> Thirdly (is that even a word....), I should probably say something about one bad, irreversible mistake I made about this chapter. Until a while ago, I didn't really realize (I mean I knew but I didn't think about it a lot) that the summer holidays in America are probably not at the same time and are also not as short as they are here in Germany. Here, it's just the entirety of August and about the first two weeks of September, six weeks long, but I forgot to find out when they are in New York until like a couple of days ago, and then I read that in most of the US, the college holidays start in May and end around Labor Day?! So I already fucked that up royally, and so I just decided to leave it like this bc wow. I need the holidays for my concept wow.  
> But anyway. Sorry about that. Just try to ignore it.
> 
> Okay so, this one's another angsty one. Like basically the long version of Alex' week after Rachel's funeral, haha. There's lots of cursing, self-deprecation, drug and alcohol use (mild, but it's there) and um a scene where somebody very seriously considers jumping off a bridge uh... does that count as a suicide attempt? I mean... call it what you want.....  
> No one dies though so...... that's good I guess haha
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading anyway? Um

  
  
**J u l y  
  
** ON THE SUNDAY MORNING AFTER ALEX HAD LEFT, John woke up feeling so broken that the only place to put the pieces were the bags beneath his eyes.  
  
He was alone in Peggy’s old bedroom in the Schuylers’ apartment, the yellow dressed duvet pulled up all the way to his chin. He opened his eyes slowly, his lips parted and realized he was irrationally afraid of what seeing the light would feel like; how final and merciless and close it would feel.    
  
His entire body hurt; he felt sore and tired and like dying. His right hand was bandaged, and he couldn’t remember why, but whatever wound it covered had bled through it. He was wearing an oversized sleep shirt that he was pretty sure had once belonged to Madison and was now Angelica’s, and when he tried to sit up, his brain pounded against the inside of his skull, he let out a startled noise and fell back into the pillows, groaning softly in pain – his voice sounded strangely hollow in a way it sometimes did when his sleep had been particularly brutal – and covering his eyes with his not-bandaged hand.   
  
He decided to just stay here in the silence and warmth of Peggy’s room – the sun was already up outside, but the strength and general feeling in John’s arms had yet to return for him to check his phone for the time – for as long as it lasted and startled, twitching and wincing at the pain the sudden movement sent through his arm when a moment later, someone was knocking on the door softly. Before John could say anything – even if he tried, he probably wouldn’t be able to form words – Laf was stretching his head in, smiling.   
  
“Oh, hey, you’re up. Is it okay if I come in?” he said, and before John could pull the lump out of his throat and say _no, no, please stay away from me, I’m disgusting and worthless and big and puffy and sad and I’m bleeding onto Peggy’ pillow and I don’t deserve to be smiled at the way you’re smiling at me, please stay away so I won’t soil you like I did with Alex, please,_ Laf was already through the door and shuffling towards the bed, a big cup of tea and something white in his hands.  
  
John watched him, still unwilling to move or say something while the Frenchman put the things he’d been holding down on the nightstand and then lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, smiling down at John, who reluctantly let him brush stray strands of hair out of his face and behind his ear.  
  
There was a long silence, and John realized he was incredibly grateful for it; he knew Laf wouldn’t force him to talk, he wouldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t feel ready to do. He knew it because they’d been over all this before; John had arrived at New York after his graduation as a broken mess, and Laf had been a large part of the process of putting him back together.   
  
_It didn’t last long, though, did it? Now we’re right where we started._  
  
“How are you feeling?” Laf asked quietly, and John flicked his eyes up at him briefly, huffing a dry laugh for an answer. _What do you fucking think, Motier?_   
  
“What am I doing here?” he asked instead, and his voice honestly terrified him for a second; was this really him? Jesus, how much had he cried last night?  
  
Laf gave him a pitying once-over, his eyes stopping briefly when they reached his bandaged hand.   
  
“De que est-ce que tu te souviens?” he asked quietly, pulling Johns hand into his lap and attentively eyeing the bruising on the swollen joints of his fingers. John watched him, his breath catching slightly in his throat when he realized he practically remembered nothing of the last evening, except that-  
  
He heard himself inhale softly.  
  
“Alex is gone, isn’t he?”  
  
John was caught off-guard by the actual physical pain it caused him to utter Alex’ name. It made his heart clench and his stomach twist and his skin burn, and Laf didn’t look up from where he was gently playing with John’s numb, hurt fingers. John’s tongue burned sour with the sound of Alex’ name rolling off of it, and the Frenchman nodded slowly.  
  
“I’m afraid so, mon petit lion.”  
  
John blinked, surprised at how hard Laf’s words hit him. It wasn’t like it was a surprise to him; he’d known, of course, he’d known. How could he forget? The memory of their fight – or rather, their pathetically failed attempt at a heated discussion had haunted him in his sleep and burned itself into his brain like acid eating its way through metal, but somehow, still, it hurt so much to hear it from another person; to hear that Alex had, actually, really left, that it wasn’t just some terrible nightmare John had had.   
  
_Is he actually gone? Come on. That can’t be true, he promised. He promised not to leave-_  
  
John, fighting back the weak sob trying to creep up his throat, shied away from Laf’s almost motherly, genuinely gloomy expression. He glued his eyes to the blue and red and purple skin of his fingers above the bandage and felt his lips parting widely, breath after breath escaping them as he tried to form a question on his tongue, the words coming to him exceedingly slowly. He felt dizzy and weak and heavy, and there wasn’t much he actually felt he could think about, or say. There was- nothing, really.    
  
After a long silence that Laf endured patiently, John finally managed to say something. “… what else happened?” he asked, and Laf sighed lowly, brushing more hair away from John’s forehead and letting his fingers linger on the side of his face for a little longer before pulling back and reaching for something from the nightstand that John recognized after a moment as a new bandage, compress and a bottle of wound disinfectant the other boy had brought into the room with him. “Um… well… can you sit?” The Frenchman muttered and then paused as John slowly did so. He started loosening the soaked bandage around John’s hand and pulled a face, whispering “Sorry” when John winced in pain, inhaling sharply through his teeth when the Frenchman took off the compress that had stuck to the wound.  
  
John’s eyes widened when it was off; he swallowed and breathed in heavily and stared at his busted knuckles underneath the white cloth.  
  
Laf picked up the disinfectant and placed a gentle hand on his upper arm, nudging him slightly. “Do yourself a favor and don’t look, mon cher.” He said quietly, and John swallowed once more before obliging and turning away to look at the far wall. He noticed a drawing of Herc, Laf, Alex and himself in the coffee shop he’d made for Peggy before he and Alex had even gotten together and sighed, then winced and gave a short cry when Laf poured a bit of the burning disinfectant onto his hand, quickly unpacking the new compress and placing it on John’s softly shaking hand.  
  
John gritted his teeth as the burning pain made its way up his arm; he heard Laf hastily unpacking the bandage and slinging it around his hand tightly. They stayed silent until he was finished, and then Lafayette pushed John back into the pillows, shushing him when he gave another weak sound of pain and protest. “Laf, please… tell me what happened…” John slurred, his voice heavy in his mouth, but Laf shook his head, placing a hand firmly on his chest when John tried to sit back up. “No, you need rest, lion. I’ll tell you when you wake up again.” He said. The mattress shifted as the Frenchman stood and picked up the bottle and old bandages and turned to leave.  
  
John felt his lower lip quivering. _Don’t. Don’t leave, please, don’t do this. Don’t do this just like everyone else. Laf, please._  
  
He caught Laf’s free hand in his own tightly before he could get far and pulled him back to the bed. Laf looked down at him, eyebrows lifted in surprise; his expression softened in split seconds when he watched a tear roll out of the corner of John’s eye and down towards his neck and ear.  
  
“ _Oh_. Oh, no, John, no. Don't cry. Come one, mon cœur, petit Jean. No tears!” He dropped the things he’d been holding on the nightstand and climbed into the bed halfway, cupping John’s face with his hands and brushing his tears away from his cheeks; they kept coming.  
  
“He _left_.” John heard himself choke on a sob. _Oh no. No, Laurens, shut up, just shut up._  
  
“Shh, I know, baby, I know…” Laf looked at him a little helplessly; John’s healthy fingers were gripping his wrist tightly, the other clutching at the front of his t-shirt, and Laf looked like he was close to tears now, too.  
  
“He just left, but he promised. He promised so many times to stay, but in the end, he left just like everyone else. Why does everyone leave me, Laf? Why does everyone leave?” John didn’t quite know what he was saying anymore; the words just kept bubbling out of him, different, big and slurry variations of ‘he left’s and ‘why did he leave if he told me he loves me?’s.  
  
Laf’s eyes were wide, and when he lay down next to John and pulled him into his arms, John let him; he gripped the front of his friend’s shirt hard and cried into him, curling into himself and Lafayette’s arms caging him the longer he did. And Laf just held him and rocked him and pecked his neck softly, whispering mindlessly that it was all going to be alright.  
  
And John tried so hard to be convinced.   
  
He tried so hard to nod and believe it when Laf said that the pain was only temporary and that John should just wait and see; that there were so many other wonderful people out there and that he was so, so young; that Alex wouldn’t be something he would think about in pain until he died, but something he would probably remember fondly in just a couple of months; that he knew how much it hurt now, but that everything would pass eventually; that every pain, every wound, no matter how deep, could heal. _  
_  
Most of all, though, John wished it was true when Laf threaded his fingers through his hair and nuzzled him and told him that it was not his fault. He wished he could hate Alex and be angry and sleep with a thousand guys to realize he didn’t need him, he wanted to rage and scream and blame what he felt like all on Alex-  
  
But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t, it wasn’t the way he’d been made. He wasn’t that naïve, he knew who he was, what he was. He knew it wasn’t Alex fault; John knew just why Alex had left.   
  
Because John was repulsive and disgusting, he was a failure and unworthy of anything good, and foolish to think anyone could ever love him. Alex had known that, his father had known that, he knew that; he was simply not good enough.   
  
He was simply _not good enough_.  
  
John cried harder into Lafayette’s shirt.   
  
Maybe he didn’t deserve nice things because he was paying for sins that he didn’t remember.  
  
When Herc and Peggy forced John to leave the bed and eat something at 2 pm – everybody had taken their day off to be there for him, even Angelica – Laf finally let himself be convinced to tell him what had happened. Apparently, he’d come after Alex to his apartment last night just about ten minutes too late, and when Alex wouldn’t open his door – already having left fifteen minutes ago – he’d had a panic attack. He’d started shaking, screaming and heavily hammering on Alex’ door with tears streaming down his face. The hammering turned into punching, and when Alex’ landlord Mr. Dipnall had come upstairs, woken by all the noise, and caged John in his arms and told him to calm down, he had turned around and tried to punch Dipnall, too. But instead, he’d leaned on the guy heavily and started sobbing into his jacket, and Dipnall had taken him downstairs to his apartment, made him tea and given him chocolate for his nerves. Then, upon the question, if Dipnall should call someone for him, John had managed Peggy’s name, and unlocked his phone with shaking hands, passing it to the older man and then going back to crying into his hands.   
  
So Alex’ landlord had called Peggy, and she had taken a cab with Laf and Herc from the East Village to Brooklyn to pick him up and take him to Eliza’s, Maria’s and Angelica’s place. Apparently, he’d either passed out or fallen into the deepest sleep on the ride home with Laf and Herc in the back seat. Herc had held him, and Laf had held his healthy hand. Angelica had treated his hand when they were home. They’d woken him up briefly afterward so he could take some painkillers, and then he’d gone back to sleep as Herc had helped him wash off in the shower and carried him all the way to Peggy’s old room where he and Laf had tucked him in.  
  
When Laf had finished telling him this, John was crying again, this time of sheer embarrassment. How could he have put his friends through all this trouble? How dare he bother them like this? Jesus, didn’t they have enough troubles without him constantly needing their help?  
  
The worst of the things he didn’t remember was yet to come, though. When he checked his phone later, it turned out that he’d sent Alex a worrying amount of texts last night. He’d apologized and told him he hated and loved him a thousand times and asked him, basically begged him to just let him know where he was, or that he was alive.  
  
Alex had left all of them on read; he hadn’t answered a single one of them.   
  
In the late afternoon Laf, Peggy and Maria had left the apartment to open up the coffee shop for the rest of the day, and so he was left alone with Herc, Eliza, and Angelica. Angelica had shown him how to change his bandage properly and then went to her afternoon reading at university, and Eliza had watched two entire seasons of Steven Universe with him while Herc made dinner. Eliza had told him bits and pieces about her first serious breakup in High School, and how she’d, even though her and her girlfriend had planned to go to the same college, move in together and even get married, _literally_ _burned_ all the evidence that girl – Jo – had ever been part of her life and entirely erased herself from her narrative.  
  
And how good it had felt to burn the t-shirts and bed sheets and everything with Jo’s smell on it, how satisfying to watch long, heartfelt letters and little gifts and pictures turn to ashes in the fireplace in her father’s study.   
  
John had, in fact, listened to this story quite often before; Eliza loved telling stories like this one, so he noticed that she entirely left out the fact that on the day after Eliza had burned all her memories of the other girl, Jo had called and apologized, and Eliza had helplessly fallen for her again.   
  
And while Eliza smiled at nothing in particular a little bitterly and then asked if they should start the next season right away or after dinner, John promised himself that he wouldn’t fall for Alex again. Even if Alex called tomorrow, or the day after that, he wouldn’t even pick up. He wouldn’t be helpless again.   
  
He wouldn’t beg for what didn’t want to stay.  
  
  
JOHN DID ALL THE THINGS they told you to do after breakups.  
  
When Laf, Herc, Peggy and he returned to their own apartment the next day, he locked his door and took refuge in his bed.  
  
Which turned out to be counterproductive since his bed sheets smelled like vanilla, and vanilla smelled like Alex.  
  
So the next day, a Tuesday, he bought new sheets. Green and white striped ones. He also decided to buy new shower gel; he spent hours in the drugstore, trying to figure out which scent was the exact opposite of vanilla. Only when he had already decided on one, paid and left the store, he realized the new shampoo he’d bought to save time was also vanilla-scented. He cursed whatever had moved him to buy this under his breath and took it home anyway for the sake of the environment.  
  
He dressed his bed in green and white and then crawled into it and cried. Cried for days, nights, weeks and years.  
  
After seven days, he deleted Alex’ number from his phone; the next day, he saved it again – he had it memorized on his fingertips, anyway, and maybe he was just still clinging on to some kind of hope. Maybe, even though Alex had stopped even reading the thousands and thousands of messages John sent every day.  
  
When he went back to work after two weeks because he felt like he needed something to do that was not drawing, crying or watching tv, he still caught himself buying two cups of coffee in the morning. He did it again, and again, and again, and again, unable to stop himself; he perfected the art of smiling and nodding when someone brought up Alex’ name in conversation.  
  
He took an entire day off and Eliza and Peggy helped him to drop off half his possessions at a donation center because they had Alex’ smell on them.  
He pretended not to notice when Peggy sneakily saved half a ton of Alex’ books and the green hoodie he’d always worn; the one he’d worn when he’d cried into Johns sweater on the front step of his apartment building in April, the one he’d worn when he’d gotten his job and kissed John for the first time, the one he’d slept and cried and had breakfast in; the one John had brought him on the day Rachel had died, the one that had the smell of Alex and alcohol in it when he’d returned it on Saturday.  
  
_The one he’s worn when he first kissed me.  
  
‘You, too?’ ‘Me, too.’  
  
_ John bought ice cream and didn’t listen to slow songs.  
  
_I will not beg for what does not want to stay.  
I will not beg for what does not want to stay._  
  
At night, he cried in between his green and white bed sheets; he cried until nothing came. Then, when he woke up one morning and found himself not crying, he lifted his hands to his chest and felt around, and yes, the pain was still there, the loss of first Rachel and now Alex, and the lump in his throat was back; maybe his body had just gotten used to sadness. He got up, burrito’d in his blanket, walked to the bathroom and changed his bandage.  
  
_I will not beg for what does not want to stay._  
  
He watered his climbing plant. Then, he picked up his phone.  
  
Alex didn’t pick up. He never did. So John left another voicemail.  
  
He talked about his bed sheets and the Norwegian TV show he’d started watching. He told him Eliza’s breakup story; he told him how much he missed him, how much he missed knowing he was okay, how much he missed their mornings and lunch breaks and afternoons and evenings and nights, how much he missed him at work and how weird it was to visit Rachel’s grave without him. That he went there every Sunday and left sunflowers. That he said hi from him every time, although Alex had never specifically told him to do so. He went on and on about the stuff he drew to fill the grave, deafening silence in his head and said he missed him once more until the phone cut him off with a sharp tone.  
  
John threw it across the room and buried himself in his cool pillow. It had started smelling of vanilla just the same way as the old sheets had.  
  
_I will not beg for what does not want to stay._  
  
_  
_ “SO, NEW YORK, HUH? Excuse my French, but what the fuck motivated you to leave the greatest city in the world in favor of- well- _Philly_?” The girl – Kitty looked at him out of attentive blue eyes, a thin eyebrow cocked as she pushed the door at the back of the coffee shop open, pointed into the kitchen and started listing the cutlery, tableware and kitchen utensils that belonged into the shelves at a speed that had Alex gaping at her silently.  
  
He’d started strolling around the neighborhood two days ago, about a week after his arrival, asking for a job in flower- and coffee shops. So far, everyone had turned him down with a benevolent smile, politely thanking him for his interest and asking him to leave.  
  
Kitty was co-owner of the “Coffeehouse”, a well visited two story coffee shop with dark wooden tables, walls the color of sand and oranges and a large glass pastry display on the counter across the street from the dorm building Alex’ room that had come with his scholarship was in. She laughed and talked a lot, seemed clever and honest and was the first potential employer to ask for anything more than his name.  
  
“Oh, I just… I’m starting college here in fall, and- well, New York was generally more of a gap year thing for me.” he lied with a shrug and a crooked smile.   
  
He'd learned to leave out half of the truth about why he’d left New York when he was asked that question; he’d revised this sentence and said it to the woman behind the front desk in the deans’ office at the university, to the cashier in the on-campus bookshop and the landlord of his dorm building. Every time he said it, though, there was a voice in the back of his head hissing the whole truth into his ear; that he’d left New York because he was a coward and loner whose mother had died a few weeks ago, who’d left his boyfriend with the worst excuse in the entire universe and didn’t know how to handle contact.  
  
As if he needed to be reminded of that. The thousands of messages and voicemails he got and ignored every day reminded him of it just fine.   
  
The things John said had changed. He didn’t beg Alex to come home anymore; he had stopped apologizing. Now, what he talked about was more about what he did every day, and how things were going, and how things were changing. It was more like he was simply trying to talk to Alex and get him to tell him details about how he was.  
  
Alex didn’t know which was worse; he only knew that it was way harder to listen to John’s voice telling him he’d forgot to tell him he had gotten into NYAA and that his preparation class was starting in the second week of August, or read his rants about tv-shows and what he was doing every day than to listen to him pleading for him to come home, because it was so much more like a talk, a horribly one-sided conversation; like John was really just genuinely interested in how he was, knocking on his door softly, but Alex was denying him access.  
  
Not picking up the phone when John called was getting harder and harder every day, but Alex knew he shouldn’t do it. He knew it would only hurt John even more if he did call now, just to say he was not going to come home ever again.

  
“Oh, hello, a freshman! Well, welcome to hell I guess. I’m probably graduating in design by the end of the next summer semester. What classes are you taking?” Kitty ripped him out of his thoughts. She was closing the kitchen door and gesturing for him to follow her back into the shop, where she started rummaging around beneath the counter, looking for something.   
  
“Uh, I’m thinking pre-law and rhetoric for my first year, and then I’ll decide on a major.” He said with a small shrug. Kitty looked up, pulling a face.  
  
“Eww. Didn’t take you for the lawyer type.” She admitted with a frown.   
  
Alex tried hard not to flinch because when she frowned, Kitty scrunched up her snub nose in a way that painfully reminded Alex of Rachel. And the way her long, dark curls fell over her shoulder when she bent back forward painfully reminded him of John.  
  
But to be honest, everything reminded him of John.   
  
A random stranger rolling a cigarette on the bus had left Alex in tears a few days ago; a girl sitting at the table next to him with a café latte and a pencil sticking out of her slowly dissolving bun had caused him to leave and go to another café for breakfast yesterday morning.  
  
And it wasn’t just John he saw everywhere; He’d caught a glimpse of a Med-student with large creoles and a girl with a very curly ponytail fighting about memes in the hall and thought of Peggy and Angelica. He’d spotted two girls sharing a milkshake in an ice cream shop, one of them wearing a light blue summer dress and the other dark red lipstick and thought of Eliza and Maria. He’d seen a boy with a beanie and a nose piercing carrying around a pale green party dress in a plastic spout over his shoulder, phone pressed to his ear, and thought of Herc. He’d overheard someone humming David Hasselhoff in the public shower this morning, thought of Laf and actually shouted at the guy to _please shut the fuck up_. He’d seen a tall boy in the dorm building’s kitchen, grinning at a text on his phone goofily and thought of Madison.  
  
Luckily, though – another advantage of his scholarship – Alex didn’t have to share his room, which had made his arrival a lot easier. He’d spent his first night in Philly sleeping in a toilet stall of the public bathroom in the train station he’d arrived at and went to campus in the morning to sign up for the next semester and accept his scholarship. After half an hour of waiting and making torturing small talk with the woman behind the counter, he’d been assigned a room in a building on the edge of campus and immediately moved into it.   
  
His first week in Philadelphia had been spent the same way his last one in New York had; in a darkened room on a cheap mattress with the duvet pulled over his head, the howling, familiar sound of the hyenas’ voices ringing in his empty ears, rocking back and forth and listening to his own crying.  
  
He'd bought weed from someone living down the hall and gotten himself lots of instant coffee from the 7-11 down the block. That was how he had somehow managed; with cold showers spent shivering in the public bathroom of his dorm, ramen soup eaten out of a large metal cup at 2 am and as many brief portions of sleep he could get without breaking into cold sweat when his thoughts came creeping, either very late at night or very early in the morning.

He was sure this sleep deprivation was going to be the end of him rather sooner than later, but even that seemed preferable to him considering the alternative.  
  
The alternative was letting it all get to him. It was crying every night and finding himself unable to get up every morning because of how ashamed he was of the way he was living, how guilty for what he’d done to John – he couldn’t even imagine what the other boy felt like; oh, what had he done. What in the world had given him the idea that leaving John was the right thing to do? – and how much, how very much he missed them; not just John, but Rachel, of course. There were moments, and their frequency had increased worryingly, in which he wished for nothing but death, just so he could see her again on the other side.  
  
What had moved him to finally leave his dorm room after a week, he wasn’t sure; maybe it was just some old, very profound part of him telling him to get the fuck over himself and at least try to do something productive with the situation he was in now, because he was going to college in a month, no matter how fucking empty he felt.  
  
He didn’t even know how he got up in the mornings; but he somehow did, considering the fact that today was already Tuesday.  
  
_Tuesday. That means it’s already been three weeks since she died. This is so surreal; it feels like it’s been years without her.  
_  
“But I mean, there’s no rule that I’m not allowed to hire sleep-deprived law freshmen in here, so-“  
  
Kitty’s voice retrieved him from his thoughts; she was holding a black apron, a pen and a couple of pinned together sheets of paper out to him, a grin playing with her features.  
  
He felt his eyes widen and looked up at her, the realization only slowly kicking in that she’d just given him a job without even putting him on probation first. “Wow! Um, thank you so much!” He hurried to reply, eagerly taking the apron and contract and pressing them to his chest.   
  
Kitty nodded benevolently and turned around to the coffee machine, throwing him a look over her shoulder. “I reckon you know how one of these works?” She poked the coffee machine, and he nodded quickly.  
  
“Well, then put your apron on, Hamilton. The hair has to go up.” She flicked his hair and grinned when he pulled a face, flinching away slightly. “Congratulations, you now have a job.”  
  
  
“HE CALLED ME THAT NIGHT, you know.”  
  
John looked up from the tiles by the door he had been cleaning with a broom and met Eliza’s eyes. She had stalled in the middle of wiping down the counter and was looking at him, leaned back against the shelf behind it. It was 6 pm on the last of July’s Fridays, and they were about to lock up the shop. Herc had left a while ago to meet Laf and Peggy downtown for the cinema, so he and Eliza were alone.   
  
The days had turned from warm to hot, the air was dry and the concrete boiling; the past week, John’s first of being back at work had given a presentiment of the nearing heat of August in New York that had left everyone dehydrated and horrified of what was yet to come, but the evenings were gentler and reminded John of late June afternoons.  
  
The glass door to the shop was open, some jazz-hop was playing softly from John’s phone and the evening was warm and orange and still outside; the rush hour traffic was yet to come, and the day’s heat still graspable in the air urged the stray pedestrians in the street to hurry back home, daydreaming about the AC waiting for them in their apartments.  
  
“What did you say?” he asked, his voice quiet. That was nothing new; his voice was always quiet because he kept it down. Because he was constantly afraid of it being too loud or a little too much these days.  
  
Eliza let out a barely audible sigh and ran a hand through her hair, picking the rag back up. “I said he called me. The night he left, Alex called me.”  
  
John blinked, his lips forming a silent ‘O’ when he was reminded of what Eliza was referring to as ‘that night’. He’d gotten pretty good at pretending nothing had happened, or that what had happened didn’t get to him in the slightest anymore. Though it still did, of course, it did.  
  
“He did?” He said weakly, more of an observation than a question, his hands grasping the broom a little tighter as his brow furrowed slightly. He looked down at the gray tiles of the flower shop and gritted his teeth. _Why did he call Eliza and not me? What’s the difference between letting me know he’s alive and letting her know he’s alive? Jesus, this is ridiculous. Why won’t he just come back?  
  
_ He saw Eliza nod slowly from the corner of his eye. “He said he’d leave town for a while. He wanted me to give his job to someone else.” She said quietly; John frowned, still staring at the lower end of the broom.  
  
“Why didn’t you? Like, that girl who came in a week ago asking for a job? We could use a hand with everything we’ve got going on at the moment.” He muttered absently; Eliza sighed again, and he heard her shift slightly.  
  
“To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be gone for that long. I thought- I hoped he’d be back by the end of July.”  
  
John blinked and lifted his head a little. He watched a yellow taxi pass out on the street and picked up on a piece of an Ed Sheeran song blasting from its radio.   
  
_Me too, Lizzy. Me too._  
  
Eliza stayed quiet after that and John, thinking their conversation was over, started slowly moving the broom over the tiles again until Eliza finally broke their silence.  
  
“He told me to tell you he loves you.” She whispered.   
  
Something inside John’s chest tugged painfully; he lowered his head, throwing Eliza, slumped into herself by the counter a glance over his shoulder.  
  
“It didn’t stop him from leaving, though, did it?” he heard himself murmur; Eliza shook her head. There was another silence, and John felt a question slowly forming on his tongue.  
  
“But- what I don’t understand is-“ He turned halfway, gripping the broom hard. “Why are you telling me this _now_? Like- why… why did you keep it from me this long?”  
  
Eliza, looking down at the counter shrugged. “I guess I didn’t think it mattered.” John huffed a slow laugh and shook his head, slightly distraught. “But why _now_?” he asked; there was a desperate tone to his voice that he knew he should have lost by now. It had been almost three weeks, shouldn’t he be a little more rational or composed about the situation?  
  
She shrugged again, helpless. Her voice was slightly tight when she continued. “I _don’t know_ , John! I guess I just realized how long it’s been since he left, and it makes me feel sick to see you this way. It makes me sick and sad and I want to find Alex and punch his fucking head in for doing this to you.” She ran ten fingers through her hair and John noticed that her hands were shaking a little. Eliza’s hands never shook. This was new and the genuineness her voice carried when she said it made her sick to see him sad made him want to cry for a second. She cared so much. God, she cared so much.  
  
“But sweetie, it’s been _three weeks_ , and he hasn’t even texted back. I really don’t want to say this, but-“  
  
John unconsciously shook his head softly, looking at her with big, pleading eyes. “Don’t say it, please. Please, Eliza, _please_.” He heard himself whisper. She was looking at him, her voice stuck in her throat, her lips parted, her eyes agonized and wide. They stared at each other for a second, and he prayed she wouldn’t continue, prayed she wouldn’t say it because he knew she was right, he knew he was making a fool of himself by trying to convince everyone that he actually believed in what he hoped for so badly-  
  
“ -But I think you should start getting used to the idea of him not coming back. You should try to move on.”  
  
John actually flinched at her words; he looked away, at the floor and at his hands, anywhere but at Eliza, and felt his heart racing. She let out a breath, and he felt his eyes welling up – when would they ever stop – as he gently leaned the broom against the doorframe and untied his apron. Eliza watched silently, her shoulders shaking softly as he slowly put his hair up into a bun and placed the apron on the table closest to him in the café.  
  
“He’ll be back, Lizzy.” He said softly, and she, motionless, flicked her eyes at the floor. “John…”  
  
“No, he’ll be back.” John interrupted her, and she dropped her shoulders helplessly, covering her mouth with her hands. “He has to.” He added quietly, more to himself than to Eliza; he wasn’t even sure if she heard it at all.  
  
He stood at the door silently for a second, then grabbed his jacket from the table he’d left it on earlier. “Is it okay if I go home?” he murmured and Eliza nodded softly, a quiet “Of course.” escaping her.  
  
“See you tomorrow, then.” John slung his jacket over his shoulder and skipped down the steps of the flower shop, letting the warm air of the evening embrace him.  
  
He walked slowly and close to the edge of the sidewalk, listening to the sounds of the street and letting other pedestrians pass him.  
  
Some part of him knew that Eliza was right; with every passing day, it dawned more and more on him that Alex was probably not coming back.   
  
But for some reason, John still didn’t stop hoping.   
  
Every morning when he woke up to see another sunrise, he’d find himself keeping his eyes closed for a second, begging the universe that when he opened them, Alex would be next to him, sleeping in one of John’s oversized t-shirts, hair down and messy and soft as he lay curled up by John’s side, drooling slightly, and that the past three weeks of John’s life, the confusion and the breaking and the emptiness had been nothing but a horrible, horrible dream.  
  
It sounded clichéd, but he felt like half of him was missing, like Alex had taken half of him with him to wherever he had disappeared to. Somewhere in the world was an Alex, wandering lines in places John had never seen, red-eyed but probably better off without him. And in his backpack, there were books and clothes and John’s hands that he needed to draw, and a lung he needed to breathe properly, and his legs that he needed to get up on all the mornings without Alex here.  
  
The thing that irritated John the most about living a life without Alex in it was how he wasn’t angry at all. He knew he had every right to be, but he wasn’t. He was anxious and terribly worried, but when he thought of Alex, there was no heat, no boiling anger or even hatred, and he knew that if Alex were to come back, after all, if he were to walk through the door one evening, with or without an apology on his tongue and tears in his eyes, all the hurt, all the breaking would be tossed out of the window and John would love him all over again, like he hadn’t been gone for a second. It pissed him off that even though he should be angry and frustrated, he should be raging and cursing Alex’ name, he wasn’t; he was just sad and still loved him and missed him way too much.  
  
Why Alex had thought to bail was the only option to get out of his miserable state, John would never understand. The only reason he could think of was that he had in one way or another gotten too close to Alex, that his clinginess and his constant need for attention and affection had simply annoyed him. But if what Eliza said was true and Alex did love him, he would never understand why the other boy would rather be parted from him than take the risk of opening up to him and letting him inside his heart.    
  
But maybe John had to stop asking for why at some point, no matter how impossible it seemed.  
  
Maybe he just had to let it go.  
  
  
**A u g u s t**  
  
AUGUST OPENED like it always did; hot and bright like an exaggerated explosion in a bad Hollywood blockbuster, blowing everything in its path away, turning New York into a literal sauna, making the sidewalk between John’s apartment and the flower shop sticky with unbearable, damp heat and setting fire to miles and miles of forests in southern California.  
  
The majority of people living in New York fled to their summer houses or family homes in New England or at least spent their days and nights by the rivers and swimming pools and beaches of the city. The flower shop closed for the holidays when Eliza and Maria drove up to Albany with Peggy, Angelica and their parents and Lafayette went to Paris with Jefferson, leaving the keys of the Café Adrienne to John and Herc and Madison, who were the only ones left at home.  
  
Madison wouldn’t have classes all August long, and after the three of them spent half a week lazily hanging out at John’s and Herc’s apartment, fighting over who was to go get the next round of ice sandwiches from the 7-11 downstairs while the other two stayed inside, taking turns in the cold bath (filled with literal, slowly melting ice cubes) they’d let themselves in or in front of the opened fridge and starting to scream whenever someone cheekily suggested just opening a window. They watched tv and slept on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor and Herc and Madison successfully kept John’s mind off Alex for a few days.  
  
Conveniently, the AC had immediately broken down when Herc had tried to get it to work, and so after half a week, they couldn’t take the heat anymore, packed a few things and moved their base camp to the cool kitchen of the coffee shop. They opened it on Monday, and Herc and Madison spent most of their time in the cool kitchen, trying and failing to copy Maria’s trademark iced tea while John put on the lightest clothes he could find – jeans shorts and one of Lafayette’s tank tops – tied his hair up into a higher bun than usual to keep it away from his neck and face and, running around behind the counter barefoot, did practically all the work, sold iced coffee and smoothies all by himself at record speed and tried not to think of the Wednesday in April he and Alex had spent helping Peggy out at the coffee shop too much.  
  
The days passed slowly and hotly, tenacious like old chewing gum, and John was so glad when the second week of August came along. He awoke ten minutes before his alarm rang early on an already brutally warm Monday morning and lay disoriented for a second until he checked his phone and was met with a calendar reminder, a mess of emojis expressing an insane amount of excitement and the all-caps statement that today was the first day of his preparation class at NYAA.  
  
With his acceptance letter had come an invitation to a joined summer workshop of the different faculties for the new students to try out the different classes they could take to speed up their decision, and he had been looking forward to it for such a long time, but now the thought of actually going out and meeting at least a hundred people that were better at art than him just left him feeling slightly empty and anxious. He didn’t want to go out; he didn’t want to socialize, and he didn’t want to create because everything he’d drawn since Alex had left was, frankly, shit.  
  
John lay motionless for a while, staring at the bottom of the kitchen counter and listening to Herc and Madison snoring softly in unison. His makeshift bed in the apartment’s kitchen – Laf had somehow found out that they had been camping in his freezer room and had threatened to throw them out of the apartment that he paid the majority of rent for if they didn’t stop sleeping in his coffee shop – consisting of his duvet and a pillow was warm with his nightly body heat and the back of his t-shirt was slightly damp, which finally caused him to get up after all. He quietly had a bowl of cereal and a cup of horrible, leftover coffee from yesterday, then took a cold shower and tied his still damp hair up.   
  
After hours of deliberating if he should put on jeans to make a proper impression or shorts to not melt, he finally decided on shorts and a t-shirt before he packed his backpack agonizingly slowly – he _really_ didn’t want to go to that class, but he also really wanted to, and it was driving him insane – and wrote a note for Herc and James who were still sleeping soundly in the kitchen that he was at school and returning in the afternoon and then slipped out of the apartment and into the hot, promising day, his stomach flipping with anxiety.  
  
As it did so often when he didn’t feel like going to social events, it turned out to be alright after all. There were so many new students at the workshop that barely anyone noticed the fact that whatever new drawing style John tried out or whatever part of the live drawing model he tried to draw, it was always crooked or lifeless. Nobody seemed to really care that he was shivering and shaking, cold sweat forming on the nape of his neck, drenching the back of his shirt as his charcoal and pencil and fine-liner moved over the paper in the over air conditioned, high-walled, bright and stuffed class room and bending further into himself and his sketch pad in an attempt to hide his work whenever someone passed behind him.  
  
The further the day progressed, the dizzier and more frustrated grew John. He couldn’t draw, he just _couldn’t_ , and even though it was ridiculous, even though the only person actually paying some kind of attention to him during the morning was the long-haired boy sitting next to him in the very quiet and focused life drawing class room who sometimes glanced at him, not even at his sketch pad out of dark, large eyes, with a shy smile, John felt like the entire room was staring at him and every single page he covered in crooked, misfit lines. Everyone was probably asking themselves what the hell someone like him was doing here, what had ridden Mr. Jay to give a _scholarship_ to someone this bad at what they were doing.  
  
John was relieved when some professor that had earlier shown him to his seat during the introduction clapped her hands and told everyone to go have lunch. There was an afternoon program, but John, his knees buckling as he stood after packing his things, was pretty sure he wouldn’t attend. He followed the stream of students walking out of the classroom and pushed past slow walking, happily chattering groups of young people who had pretty obviously all already made friends. _Why am I so fucking socially incompetent, goddammit? When will I have my shit together?_ John ignored the pull in his chest and hurried down the hall to the stairs.   
  
Maybe he would come again tomorrow, maybe not; what did it matter if he was doing something useless in here or at home? His steps were heavy and he wasn’t watching where he was going.  
  
Maybe he should just get his mind to a better place before he tried to do something like this. Or maybe he should just throw this irrational idea of going to art school to the wind altogether, maybe he should just stay a heartbroken florist and stop trying to change anything about what he was-  
  
“Watch out!”  
  
Something hit John’s shoulder hard and he swayed on his feet, able to catch himself just before he fell by clinging on to the wide upper arm of whoever he’d just ran into. He cursed and closed his eyes briefly, mentally hissing at himself and his clumsiness.   
  
“Shit. Is everything okay? You seem really out of it.” The other person gave a low, insecure chuckle, and when John finally managed to look up, he recognized the dark, strangely familiar eyes of the boy who had been watching him draw earlier.   
  
“Uh… yeah, I’m fine. It’s probably…” John caught himself staring into the stranger’s eyes for a moment, frowning slightly. _Where do I know you from…?_  
  
He realized that he was still gripping the boy’s arm harder than necessary when he looked at John’s hand pointedly, his face splitting into an amused grin that reached his eyes and made his whole face smile, and John let go immediately, feeling himself blush. _I’m such a fucking idiot._  
  
“Sorry about that, and yes, I’m fine, it’s probably just the heat.” He finished, hiking his bag higher up on his shoulder.  
The boy waved his hand dismissively. “Forget about it. Where are you going for lunch?” he asked, and John, his stomach dropping, shrugged. “I… uh, some coffee shop.” He managed slowly.   
  
“Mind if I join you? I don’t really know anyone around here yet, so... It would be nice to have someone…” The boy rubbed the back of his neck, still smiling.   
  
John shrugged again. He didn’t quite know what to say; he craved solitude and the silence of his apartment and wished someone were around to tell him what to do. He wanted to be alone, and it would be so easy to say he did mind and just turn and walk away, but there was something about the other boy that made him nod and say “No, of course not. I’m John, by the way, it’s nice to meet you.”  
  
Maybe it was that smile; it was so familiar in a way, just like the curve of his long nose and jaw and the dark, inky hair the boy had pulled back into a ponytail, and the way his voice had a slight tone of amusement to itself, like he knew something really funny or smart that nobody else knew about.   
  
The boy was nodding a little awkwardly, his grin deepening. “Cool, thanks. I’m Javier, nice to meet you, too.” He introduced himself as he slowly started walking, waiting for John to follow. John hurried after him; they let themselves be carried outside by the stream of students pouring into the heat of the street side by side; Javi was asking questions, where he was from, what he wanted to study, filling the silence that would be there if he didn’t with a comfortably tiring lot of words, and John replied in short sentences and watched the boy as they walked down the sidewalk, headed back to Franklin Street to look for a coffee shop.   
  
They found one, and spent their lunch break with sandwiches and talking – Javi talked a lot, and a lot more than John, but it was okay since John didn’t have much to say anyway. Afterwards, when John was about to say goodbye and leave for the subway, Javi asked if he wanted to walk back to Uni together, and John’s stomach dropped as he wished to just be able to say _no, actually, I don’t, actually I just don’t want to go to the afternoon lecture at all and instead I want to go home and cry about how much you look like no pain and the art I wish I could create and someone I want, need to see again so badly it hurts. How much you look like him, but aren’t him, it confuses me, and I can’t deal with even more confusion right now, so I think I should go.  
_  
But he obviously couldn’t say that, and so he ended up walking back to Uni with Javi, and he ended up coming into Uni the next day, as well, because he’d woken up with a longing in his stomach, a longing for Javi’s adaptableness and his flowing words and his wide smile and his little goatee and his dark hair _that all didn’t remind John of Alex at all_. He didn’t plan for it to happen, but he sat next to Javier in the art history lecture Javi had wanted to go to, and he ended up going to the same coffee shop as yesterday with the other boy, and on Wednesday, he did, as well.   
  
With every passing second John spent with him, he noticed more and more small differences. For example, Javi didn’t carry that certain numbness behind his smaller eyes. He didn’t have bags beneath his eyes like Alex did. His posture wasn’t hunched and his body not slender, and he smelt like freshly washed clothing and a little like his roommate’s aggressive cologne, not like vanilla and coffee, and when he talked, there was a pleasant, calm hum in John’s heart but no spark, no flame, nothing.   
  
There were so many things that were the same, yet Javier was so obviously someone else that was not Alex, and John knew he shouldn’t be falling for this; he didn’t even know Javi, and what he knew didn’t really blow him away, and he knew he shouldn’t say yes when Javi asked him if he wanted to go see a documentary about German romanticism that John couldn’t care less about in some independent theater on Thursday night about two weeks after they’d met.   
  
But he did say yes, because Javier reminded John of something, someone he couldn’t ever have again, and Javi’s face lit up, causing John to squirm, biting back tears when thousands of tiny wrinkles formed around the other boy’s eyes.    
  
John knew he shouldn’t say yes to this; he shouldn’t use Javi like this. He should just leave. He should go home and do what he always did, cry and leave voicemails on Alex’ phone and beg the past to stay.   
  
But instead they walked back to the academy together every day after the lunch break, and when Javi’s hand brushed against his on the table and lingered at some point during the afternoon piece discussion, he didn’t move away.   
  
Here John was. Miserable and lost and confused and falling for this stupid, stupid game all over again. He already knew he was falling, and there would be nothing wrong with it, it would be all good if it were genuine, but the point was that who John was falling for was not the boy sitting by his side in class and in their coffee shop, continuously watching him, adoration already in his eyes.   
  
John was falling for a dream, a memory that was hiding somewhere in the world, probably not too far away but far enough for John to not see where it was.  
  
  
AUGUST ROLLED IN, and Alex somehow miraculously managed to survive.  
  
Ever since he’d started working at the Coffeehouse both in the morning and the afternoon, he didn’t have a lot of time to himself anymore, and since he’d already gotten himself a couple of books he’d probably need for the next semester and was studying ahead just to have something to do in his leisure time, he rarely ever had nothing to do.  
  
The fact that he was incredibly busy most of the time meant that he didn’t have a lot of time to think about how much he missed his friends, John, Rachel and New York in general. He got along with Kitty and Ben, the other boy who worked at the coffee house pretty well, worked from nine to five and then went back home, sat on the sill of the open window in his dorm room, enjoying the last light of the day and reading in one of his new law books, drinking coffee. Sometimes, when his nerves and arms were particularly sore from the day, he’d smoke a little and try not to think too much about how he practically only did it because of how much it reminded him of John.  
  
Those were his days. Work exhausted him so much that he even found sleep at night and the hyenas were there but rarely loud because whenever they would start whispering his name in the dark, he would reach for his phone and text Kitty. He’d broken into tears at work once; he hadn’t slept at all the last night, and he felt like death, and when he’d told her that, she had asked him to text her whenever he felt like this. He hadn’t wanted to at first but found himself actually taking her advice and slowly learning to accept her help when she offered it every now and then.   
  
He had never told her about why he was feeling this way, but she didn’t push him to tell him anything; she was like the big sister he’d always wanted, she was amazing.  
  
The fact that he was slowly but surely starting to be a little dependent on her, though, made it even worse when she told him she was going to spend the summer with her boyfriend at the coast, and that Ben was visiting his parents, as well, and that the Coffeehouse would close until they were back.  
  
It was the hottest day of August so far and they were closing up when she told him, and he almost dropped the case full of clean dishware he’d been holding with an embarrassing gasp.  
  
His stomach had dropped, and he’d put the dishes down and started begging her to leave the keys to the shop so he could work on _something_ while she was away. He knew he wouldn’t last long if he didn’t have something to keep himself occupied, he knew he would be in the same state as just a few weeks ago if he were to be left alone with his thoughts. And after what felt like hours of him pleading, she had obliged, and he’d almost cried with relief.   
  
The next day, she came to his dorm to say goodbye in the morning, and after she was gone, he got dressed and crossed the bright, morning-warm street, unlocking the coffee shop and getting it ready for the day.  
  
Managing all of the work that came with it all by himself was hell, but he figured it was better than getting drunk before noon and not finding sleep all week, so he dove headfirst into the work when the first customers came at nine.   
  
The following days and weeks were all the same; exhausting and full of work, leaving him devastated and sleepy but so restless that when he went to bed, he found himself staying up for hours, tossing in bed or pacing around his room in the middle of the night.  
  
It was getting worse again, he could tell.  
  
But this time it was different, this time it was worse because John’s apartment wasn’t just a block away; the reassuring knowledge of _someone’s_ presence wasn’t there, and Alex was almost all by himself in the dorm building that was left empty and overheated by people returning home for summer.   
  
Alex told himself he didn’t mind being by himself. He worked and studied and started drinking again because the guy who usually sold him weed was on vacation and Alex knew nobody but him, Kitty and Ben in Philly.  
  
After one week, he was so lonely, felt so sore and numb and tired of everything that he started considering calling John again. It was the third week of August, and Alex knew he’d been gone long enough, and, sitting on his bed trying to keep his eyes from falling shut, just wanted to return home-  
  
_Home._   
  
Who was he kidding? He had no home. He’d destroyed the only home he’d ever had almost two months ago, and now he was going to fucking bear the consequences.   
  
Out of sheer exhaustion, he stopped opening the coffee shop. He stopped leaving his room altogether because outside, there were heat and light and people, and he was in no state to endure any of those things.   
  
Only in the evening, he dared to go out. After 12 pm, when the city was starting to get quiet and the heat of the day was slowly disappearing; then he would dress and slip out of the building to wander the streets half drunk and half asleep.   
  
He never knew where he was going, he just let his feet carry him wherever they wanted to go. Sometimes, that was a park or a fast food restaurant or campus, but most of the time, he went to quiet, empty Spring Garden street and took the bridge across the railway tracks. He’d stand at the parapet and watch trains come and go, asking himself if he should just get his stuff and board a train back to New York. When he got too weak to stand properly from the wind and his general constant lack of sleep, he would drag himself back to his dorm. Some nights, when he’d walked too far, he couldn’t even find his way back and would stay out all night until the sun was rising and he was sober enough to see where he was.  
  
He didn’t know how to stop it, and it honestly came as no surprise to him when he found himself crying on the bridge one evening, the warm summer wind tugging at his hair and shirt as he looked down at the trains, so far down, down, _down_ , and somehow got the idea to jump.  
  
It would be so easy. He would just climb over the parapet and stare down for one more second, and then he’d take a small step forward. He would fall, and fall and then he’d hit solid ground and it would all be over. The loss, the pain, the guilt- _all of it._   
  
He wouldn’t have to worry about all the bad things that had happened to him that he wouldn’t ever forget. He wouldn’t have to think of his father, and James anymore, and about his friends and what he’d done to John, _oh, John, his sweet, sweet John_ ; he wouldn’t have to think about anything anymore.   
_  
He would see Rachel again._  
  
He couldn’t believe he was actually considering this. He’d never been a very happy person, but he’d always considered himself healthy and reasonable enough to not to think about killing himself. But right now, as he stood at the railing, his hands and heart shaking, his vision cloudy with tears and his breathing labored, it felt quite reasonable.  
  
Alex, gasping, looked down at the tracks far, far below him. They were dark, but a train was nearing, its bright headlights causing Alex to squint. He put his heavily shaking hands on the railing and closed his eyes, drawing in a breath. _I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry Mom, I’m so sorry, John. I’m so, so sorry.  
  
Please. Forgive me. One last time._   
  
He lifted his knee shakily, stretching to put it on top of the chest-high parapet. He’d started hearing the train wheels’ messy clatter and screech on the tracks now; it was nearing mercilessly and quickly. The sound and the thought of hitting the ground in front of that train and all its weight and speed made Alex shudder and sob. He opened his eyes briefly in a moment of sudden self-consciousness and wondered if his mother could see him from some sort of afterlife, finding himself slightly embarrassed. Maybe she was watching from the other side, maybe she was crying and begging him to stop this; or maybe she was just dead _,_ and sleeping in the soil of the graveyard peacefully while Alex was left here without her, without anything to hold on to.   
  
Maybe she was just dead and didn’t give a shit what he was doing because she couldn’t because she was _dead_.  
  
So Alex’ distraught mind left Rachel; wandered to the painful memory of John, John who was alive and breathing and still not with him, John and his bright eyes and his wonderful freckles and his wide smile and his gentle hands, his voice and his kisses and the horrible look on his face when he’d realized that Alex was leaving him; like all the air had left his lungs at once and he had never felt more empty.   
  
Alex let it wander. He didn’t give a shit, he was too tired to try and deny himself these memories that he had been avoiding for _weeks and weeks_ , too tired to try and stop himself from crying about them. He let it pour out of his eyes, hunching into himself as he shivered. He was cold, he was so cold, and he missed John way too much, and he didn’t know what to do anymore. He thought of all the texts he hadn’t replied to even though he wanted to so badly because he just didn’t know what to say except _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, John, I’m so sorry, I love you so much, please, let me come home to you, I miss you, I’m sorry_.    
  
What would John do if he could see Alex right now, ready to jump off a bridge in a city that would never be a home to him without an explanation, without even saying goodbye?   
  
Alex let his eyes slip shut.   
  
He’d probably be screaming; he’d scream his name.  
  
He’d yell and grip Alex’ arms hard from behind and drag him off that parapet, spinning him in his arms to punch him square in the face, hard, and hold him back, arms firm as iron around his middle, strengthened by panic when Alex would try to get away and climb back up, his nose starting to bleed.  
  
He could practically hear him shouting his name, repeatedly, and it made his heart clench so hard he thought he was going to die, _Hamilton, Alexander, are you fucking insane? Don’t you fucking dare, don’t you dare to fucking do this right now, you dumb idiot, how dare you even consider doing this? Don’t you dare to leave me once more, you’re better than this, you’re so much stronger than this. You’ve made it this far, why are you giving in now? For the love of God, please, Alex, I love you, stop, stop this!  
_  
Alex choked on a sob mildly resembling John’s name; he heard his own voice like from far away, a cloudy, hazy sound like the distant noise of early morning cars passing over the interstate 278 that divided Brooklyn in half that he used to listen to in the mornings when he woke up before John. He’d watch the other boy sleep and trace light patterns over every bit of skin he could reach and listen to the sound of his breathing and the white noise of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and the sun was rising for another day. Always another day.   
  
Alex’ hands were numb from lying on the cold steel of the parapet for so long, and he opened his eyes, watching the train come closer. His leg was still hiked high up on the parapet, starting to ache.   
  
_What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing? Oh God, oh God, what am I doing?_  
  
His hands were shaking so much and he was crying the hardest he’d probably had since he’d left New York. His shoulders were twitching and he slowly pulled his knee off the parapet, sobbing violently.  
  
_What have I done? Why the hell did I even leave New York, why did I leave him, how dare I, I’m so stupid, I’m so fucking stupid._  
  
Alex pressed his hands to his mouth. He felt like he was going to vomit. He pressed his eyes closed; the train passed beneath the bridge and disappeared on the other side as Alex stood, crying silently.  
  
He didn’t quite know what he was doing when he reached into his back pocket for his phone, almost dropping it as he unlocked it and scrolled through his contacts, searching and finding John’s all too familiar number that he’d never found the strength to delete.   
  
He dialed, pressing his phone to his ear as he quickly staggered away from the parapet, down the sidewalk and down Spring Garden street, aching to get as much distance between himself and that bridge as possible.   
  
The line rang, and Alex prayed and prayed and prayed as he started making his way to his dorm slightly disorientedly.   
  
But the line rang, a hollow, loud tone in Alex’ ear, causing him to flinch every time it came, and John didn’t pick up. Alex called again and again, but he just didn’t pick up.   
  
He started crying again as he crossed a large street, a block away from his building. _Look, John, I get you’re not in the mood to talk to me, but this is me asking for help. This is me literally needing your help right now, isn’t this what you always wanted me to do? Please, fucking answer your phone.  
  
_ He was crying harder, impatiently and desperately clenching and unclenching his cool fingers as he shook his head to himself, incredulous as he called for the fifth time. _First, he sends me thousands of texts, and now he can’t even pick up the phone. God, please, John, please.  
_  
He somehow managed to leave a voicemail, then, he was home, and stumbled upstairs and into his bed, not bothering to undress; he fell asleep instantly, his head quiet and empty, nothing in it except the thought that John had apparently given up on him, too.   
  
Well, at least he wasn’t the only one then.  
  
  
JAVIER WAS AT THE DOOR OF JOHN’S BUILDING at 7 pm on Thursday; he called over the intercom, and Herc picked it up before John was even out of his room; he started telling Javi to better be nice to John, a sour tone in his voice before John came sprinting and ripped the intercom out of his hands, shoving Herc’s shoulder in the general direction of the living room. Javi seemed very happy to hear his voice, and John smiled a little weakly against the interphone as he pressed it to his ear when Javi told him he didn’t want to keep to himself anymore that he’d brought flowers. _Of course, he did. That’s so him. He really doesn’t deserve any of what I’m doing to him, he deserves proper love, not this poor, fake you-look-like-you-won’t-hurt-me-kind I can give him.  
  
_ He had grown quite fond of Javier over the weeks. How couldn’t he, the other boy was clever and sensitive and an amazing artist, but he had so obviously fallen in love with him over such a short amount of time that John really didn’t know how to handle it. Javier was one of the nicest people he’d ever met, and he didn’t deserve to be hurt in any way, but John couldn’t love him. It was not the same, not the same as with Alex.  
  
Though he had to face it; nothing was ever going to be the same as with Alex.   
  
Herc constantly told him he was being dramatic when he said this, but he was pretty sure he would never stop loving the other boy, no matter how kind and amazing and wonderful the people interested in him throughout his life would be. Alex had left some kind of mark on him, like the tentative remains of lipstick on the white edge of a mug, the press of a thumb against the smooth, violet inside of a seashell, or the blossoming of purple-red bruises on the sensitive skin of someone’s throat.  
  
He quickly grabbed his bomber jacket for the walk home when they’d hung up and grabbed his stuff, checking his hair unconsciously in the mirror in the hall – he could practically feel Herc and Madison watching him with big eyes from behind the corner into the hallway but pretended not to notice – and then went downstairs.  
  
Javi looked up when he opened the door; a smile spread over his face and he stepped in, embracing John as soon as the door fell shut behind him. They had started hugging a while ago, and John didn’t particularly mind, but over Javi’s shoulder, he could see a single sunflower that he was holding in his free hand, and it made him tense up immediately, his mind going blank. He swallowed.   
  
If Javi noticed, he didn’t say anything; he pulled back discretely and buried his free hand in his pocket. He was still smiling at him, but John couldn’t smile back. The sunflower- _oh, this is so wrong._  
  
“Shall… shall we go?” The other boy looked like he was going to offer him his arm, and John startled, tensing further, but then Javi dropped it again when John didn’t seem like he was going to take it. John was disgusted at how relieved he was.  
  
“Um, sure.” John cleared his throat, asking himself if Javi was going to be carrying that sunflower around with them the whole evening. “Sure.” He said again, his voice a little less gruff.   
  
They started walking in a slightly awkward silence until Javi, who had been staring at his vans the whole time cleared his throat and started talking about the documentary they were going to watch, and how odd it was that the majority of Caspar David Friedrich’s work wasn’t in Berlin but St. Petersburg. John tried to listen, but he had been incredibly uncomfortable since he’d stepped out of the door of his building into the fading, windy heat of the day.  
  
He was already sweating, and Javi was talking and talking, anxiously filling John’s silence, and he felt guilty for being like this. How could a single look at a flower just turn break down his entire façade of being okay? He had agreed to this; he was to bear the consequences. He could pretend to be fine and in love for one evening, and if Javi would try to take his hand or kiss him in the cinema, John would let him. It couldn’t be that bad; maybe he could will himself into liking the other boy back somehow. It was worth a shot. He was not going to ruin Javi’s night.  
  
They were rounding the corner to Atlantic Avenue, and Javi’s hand brushed against his, his fingers maybe even subconsciously searching for purchase, and John flinched slightly, panicking. _Shit. Shit, okay, this is what we’re doing now, okay. Great, okay._  
  
Javi traced his thumb up the back of John’s hand, his finger slowly embracing John’s when suddenly, John’s phone rang, and he jerked away, reaching into his back pocket. Javi wasn’t looking at him anymore, and John knew he had noticed John didn’t want to hold his hand. _Good fucking job, Laurens. Didn’t you say you weren’t going to ruin his night? Now he probably hates you, too, just like-  
  
_ John blinked heavily and very slowly and something inside his chest turned very light. He drew in a shaky breath, glancing over to Javi, who wasn’t looking at him. He looked back at his phone, feeling slightly dizzy as his heart threatened to jump out of his chest.  
  
His phone was vibrating soundly in his hand, and on the screen was Alex’ name.  
  
His first thought was that Alex was alive. That he was alive and breathing and okay and calling him.   
  
Why was he calling him?   
  
John stared at his phone, not noticing that Javi had stopped walking and was watching the side of his face with something akin to hurt in his eyes – what if he knew? What if he somehow knew who Alex was, what if-

 

John ran a softly shaking hand through his hair, then shielded the screen from the setting, warm sunlight. _He’s really calling, he’s calling me, fuck, it’s Alex.  
_  
_Alex, Alex, my Alex is calling, shit, oh my god, fuck what do I do, Alex is calling, and Javi is here and- is that the cinema? Shit. But- Alex. Alex is alive.  
_  
Javi was still looking at him, then turned away, saying over his shoulder that he was going in to buy the tickets and asking if he wanted something to drink; John didn’t manage to answer, he was afraid he would cry if he tried to say something, and after a while, the phone was still ringing and John was still not moving, Javi flicked his eyes away from him and said very quietly “A coke, then. I’ll be right back.” Before walking up the concrete steps to the entrance.  
  
John stood in the evening air, surrounded by smokers on their breaks, their smoke and their laughter, people and groups and couples pushing past him on the sidewalk, and everything was spinning, _he’s alive, he’s alive, oh God, thank God he’s alive, oh my God,_ and Alex was calling him, and John _couldn’t move_.  
  
He let out a weak, startled noise when his phone hung itself up after a minute and then started ringing again, the vibrations creeping up John’s tense arm to his racing heart, forming a familiar rhythm that longingly, desperately sang his name, like a prayer, _Alex, Alex, Alex, Alex-  
  
_ John couldn’t pick up.   
  
He couldn’t pick up. He couldn’t, as much as he wanted to.   
  
It had been too long and at the same time not long enough for him to have moved on and just pick up; what would he say if he did pick up, and what would happen if he heard Alex’ voice again? He wasn’t sure if he could handle that- he couldn’t handle that.   
  
And he’d promised; he’d promised not to try to hold on to him.   
  
He had to let him go, and answering the phone right now was a step backward, was a step towards smashed teacups on the floor and rivers and oceans of tears and the fact that he was only on a date with Javier because he looked just like Alex.   
  
“John, are you coming?” He looked up and met Javi’s gaze; the other boy’s eyes were all wrinkled up as he smiled down at John, who was suddenly struck with awe. _He’s smiling again. I obviously hurt him but he’s smiling? He’s fucking unbelievable.  
_  
Javi was standing at the top of the stair in the crowd, fiddling with two bottles of coke and two tickets; the sunflower had disappeared, and John, with one last glance at the screen, and his heart clenching painfully and screaming when he shoved the still ringing phone deep in his pocket, the sound of it and the vibrations being drowned out by the laughter and chatter of the crowd in front of the cinema as he jumped up the stairs towards Javi.  
  
“Where did you leave the awkward sunflower?” he joked a little tiredly and Javier chuckled, handing him the bottle and his ticket.   
  
“I’ll buy a new one, I promise.” He said sincerely, and when he reached for John’s hand again, John did tense up, but he managed to not pull away. _Do it for him. Do it for Javi, and Alex._  
  
They walked into the cinema, to the dim, not even half filled small cinema hall full of worn, red plush seats and sat, silent until the lights went off. John held Javi’s slightly sweaty hand – the poor boy was so anxious about this whole situation – and pretended not to notice how the phone in his jacket buzzed three more times throughout the movie, and how he heard the quiet sound of the mailbox picking up, and Alex’ voice, quiet and buried in John’s blue bomber jacket in the warmth and secrecy only past things could hide in. John bit back tears and gripped Javi’s hand a little tighter.  
  
When the movie was over, Javi brought John home and kissed him on his cheek sweetly, saying he’d had a lot of fun tonight even though they both knew it had been a horrible first date before leaving; the second he was out of sight, John started crying hard into his hands and couldn’t stop, mentally screaming at himself why he’d even said yes to this date, and why he hadn’t told Javi that he didn’t want to hold his hand, and why he hadn’t managed to pick up his goddamn phone when Alex had called. _Maybe he needed your help, dumbass, maybe he did something to himself, maybe, maybe, but does he deserve me still caring about him like this? Oh God, I should have picked up- what if I called him now? No, he wouldn’t pick up, or maybe he’s asleep, or maybe I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. But I want to, but I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t.  
_  
It was almost 11 pm, and the apartment was silent when he opened the door, slipping into its cool- and darkness and to his bed in the kitchen, stepping carefully over Herc and Madison, muffling his sobs behind his hand. As he stripped to his boxers, sitting on his mattress, and then grabbed his phone out of his jacket, searching for his headphones. He found them and plugged them in, unlocking his phone.  
  
_5 missed calls from: Alex  
1 voicemail from: Alex  
_  
John drew in a deep breath; he wiped his cheeks and hesitatingly hit play.   
  
And then there was Alex’ wonderful, beautiful, familiar voice, the one he’d been aching for hearing for weeks, months, the one he’d dreamed and thought and cried about, filling every corner of his body and head with warmth and brightness. His voice sounded like the Caribbean and sleep deprivation and coffee and too much weed and _home_ , very quiet and shaky but so familiar that John bit his knuckles to stifle a sob. _Oh, Alex, my Alex. My beautiful Alex, I’m so sorry._  
  
“Uh. Hey.” There was a wet sniffle over the sounds of traffic, wind, and a piece of a chart song from a car radio.  
  
“I, um… I get why you’re not picking up, like… and you know, um… that-  
  
“Okay, um, John, please pick up. John, _please_. I know I don’t deserve you- _shit_ … but please, God, please just pick up, because I- I’m really not very good right now. Like, really- not well. And I… look, I need help. _Your_ help, John. And you know me, so you know I don’t ask for help. Ever. Please-“   
  
Alex’ breath hitched and John’s hitched along with him; his heart was beating in his throat, loud in the silence of the kitchen.  
  
“Call me back, please. I need you right now, and believe me, I know I have no right to… expect your help. And you have every right to not call me back, but… please. I’ll be up for some longer. Probably all night. Call me. Like, call me, Laurens. I need you. And I’m… I’m- oh, fuck it. I- please. John.” He sounded so _broken_. John pressed his eyes closed, a tear rolling down into the pillow.  
  
His name sounded almost like a moan on Alex’ lips, and Alex tightened his grip on his phone. Another sob against his knuckles; he dug his teeth into his skin until the pain was almost a distraction.   
  
“Call me when you’re free. I guess… or is midnight too late? I’m…. well, I’ll be up for quite a while. I said that. Well. Is midnight too late? I’ll wait, John. I love-“  
  
That’s when the line cut; the two-minute marker for voicemails, and Alex had crossed it, and John buried his head in his pillow. His head was spinning with questions. The only thing clear to him was that he wasn’t going to call.   
  
_Because if I call him, I’ll never let him go. Let’s face it, I can’t, I simply can’t, even when he’s gone, even when I know he doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. I can’t let him go.  
  
He’s my hope. He’s my Alex.  
  
How could I possibly let him go?_  
  
  
**S e p t e m b e r**  
  
SEPTEMBER CAME like a breath of fresh air just outside a poorly air-conditioned high school building; it opened like a church door leading into semi-darkness and cold, and embraced the overheated city with its cooler, welcoming arms.  
  
The Schuylers, Maria, Laf, and Jefferson came home all at the same time on the 30 th of August, which was to be the last day with temperatures in the 90s, all of them tanned and happy and Eliza and Maria with matching engagement rings – when they showed them to John, Herc, Laf, Jefferson and Madison, all of them started screaming and hugging the two of them and each other; Jefferson cried an ocean and John wondered if he and Alex would have gotten engaged someday – and with their arrival the street came back to life. The flower shop opened again, and bit by bit the crowds of pedestrians on the street returned from their vacations, tanned faces all around, smiling a little more often than they usually did.   
  
John was glad they did; he still wasn’t very well and didn’t think of anything but Alex most of the time, replaying the moment he hadn’t called him back that one time in August again and again, but with the flower shop open and his friends back in town, he didn’t have a lot of time to think about it anyway.  
  
The semester started when the trees in front of the windows of John’s apartment started turning colors that weren’t green. Madison and Angelica disappeared from their lives almost wholly, since they were both probably going to graduate this year and had to put extra effort into studying, and Angelica had already panicked and started studying for her midterms two weeks into the new semester. Peggy was starting to study singing at Columbia, where she’s applied and been invited to an audition just a few days later. She’d immediately gotten in, despite not having finished high school, and John started going to class at NYAA. He’d picked a few drawing and painting classes and recent art history, taught by Mr. Jay, who gave him a warm smile and a nod when he entered the classroom on his first day, Javi in tow.   
  
He’d been on two more dates with the other boy, and with every time, he got better at pretending. He told himself that things could be a lot worse. Javier could be some asshole who didn’t take no for an answer, or he could be impatient, or nagging, but he wasn’t. He was empathetic and adored John and didn’t push him to do things he didn’t want to do.   
  
And in the early, cool morning, when John made his way across the street to the subway station, he’d listen to Sufjan Stevens and steam would rise from the sewers, and, together with the fall air that smelled of leaves and dampness and city and rain, everything seemed to be clearing up a bit.   
  
Sometimes, though, when he was working on drawings in class – they were getting better again, if you were looking at technique; but they were still sort of never quite vivid, but empty of meaning and somewhat loveless – he would find the lines of the defined and handsome face of their life drawing model at the front of the class turning softer, turning into something familiar and gone, turning into Alex’ face. And honestly, it was starting to piss him off. He started actively trying not to think of him; whenever his face popped up in John’s head, he’d quickly chase it away and concentrate so hard on forgetting Alex that he ended up constantly thinking about him anyway.  
  
The temperatures fell into the 70s very abruptly around the end of September’s first week; the city’s parks were turning colors, and on a sunny Friday after their last class, he and Javi went to Rockefeller park. They lay on their jackets in the damp grass beneath the orange trees, a little off from the main part of the park. Javi drank coffee and John drank tea and they both had their sketch pad out. Javi’s hand had been moving over the paper quickly for quite a while, but John wasn’t drawing.   
  
He sat frozen and stared at a leaf that had landed on his sketch pad next to a hesitant start of a soft, boyish jawline, and fidgeted with his pencil, feeling the same, aching kind of horrible he always did when he was with Javier, the kind caused by the fact that this afternoon of sitting and drawing together would never mean the same thing to him as it probably meant to the other boy. It wasn’t John’s fault that he didn’t feel the same way he did. He had tried, of, god, he had tried, but his mind was simply still caught up somewhere before the heat of the summer, in a hospital room, a grey summer dress, and in focused eyes behind round glasses fixed on a laptop screen, in the graveyard and the botanical garden and the press of a hand and the beach. The sound of traffic came from the street and John lowered his eyes further, now staring at his fingers.   
  
_What am I doing here? I shouldn’t be here. I’m playing him. I’m playing with him._  
  
“Hey, is everything okay?” John looked up; Javi was looking at him attentively, a worry between his eyebrows.   
  
“Yes, of course. I’m fine.” He said, too quickly to mean it. Javi tipped his head to the side, squinting against the sunlight falling through the leaves. “Hmmm, no you’re not. Come on, what’s the matter? You’ve been super silent the whole day, is something on your mind?”   
  
John stared at the jawline on his page. _Tell him. Come on, Laurens. Tell him, he deserves to be treated with honesty. Tell him now, before it’s all too late.  
  
_ “I have to talk to you about something.” He said. His voice was dry, and he swallowed, and Javi huffed laugh, nodding, and then scooted closer. “Shoot.” He said, and John took a breath, glancing at him insecurely.   
  
“I…” _‘I don’t love you.’ Come on, say it, why is it so hard? It’s not that hard, come on, Laurens, you idiot._  
  
Javier was looking at him closely, his eyes wide and open, dark and soft and waiting, and something about his expression made John want to cry, and the words got stuck in his throat. “I’m-“ he croaked, and suddenly, Javi’s hand was on the back of his neck, his fingers gently scratching at the warm skin beneath his scarf at the base of his neck. John blinked, staring at the other boy as he smiled his Alex-smile.  
  
“Shh, I know. Me, too.” He said, and John was frowning, wanted to ask him what he was talking about, but he was interrupted when Javier leaned in, interrupted by his lips, so unwanted, warm and dry on his own.   
  
John’s eyes widened and he let out a muffled noise of surprise when Javi kissed him; he tensed up, but the other boy didn’t seem to notice. He ran his hand through John’s hair, his other hand creeping up to lie on John’s chest. Heat was spreading from where he was touching John through his sweater, but not the pleasant kind, the kind that reminded John of just how wrong this felt. John didn’t know where to put his hands, and his eyes wouldn’t close; he felt cold, like there was not a drop of blood in his body, and he wanted to push Javi away, every cell in his body was telling him to push him away and get the fuck out of here, and he knew he _should_ do that, but something stopped him.   
  
The way Javier’s hands felt, like everything else about him, so familiar on the skin of his neck and in his hair and his breathing pattern, slightly shallow, it sounded like someone else’s, and that’s when John realized how he could get through this.   
  
_Just think of something else. Think of someone else.  
  
_ And he did, and when Javi’s arms tightened around him, he let himself be pulled closer and slipped his eyes shut and parted his lips slightly, letting Javi deepen the kiss, and imagined the warmth of Alex’ tongue against his, imagined kitchen lights and Lafayette and Herc next door, imagined the counter pressing into his hips, imagined Alex moaning quietly into his mouth, his smile and the way he kissed him like he was everything, everything he’d ever wished for, in just the way John had always wanted to be kissed.   
  
He remembered how in that moment, everything had felt so _in place_ , and everything was okay, just as long as Alex didn’t stop kissing him. He remembered his heart beating like crazy; he remembered never being close enough, and he remembered the overwhelming, unbelievable amount of love he’d felt for the other boy, his Alexander, in that moment, a love that, at the time, wasn’t his alone but _Alex_ ’ too. It was a crooked, imperfect kind of love they shared and held together; but it had been enough, it had _always_ been enough, it had always been everything to John.   
  
It _still was_ everything to John.   
  
He tasted the salt in his mouth, tears, and felt Javi frown; then, he was pulling away, and holding John’s face in his hands, his skin burning on John’s. Javi was looking at him out of wide, worried eyes, which only made John cry harder.   
  
“John, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? John I’m- I’m so sorry…” he wiped John’s cheeks with his thumbs and took his hand, slowly kissing it, but John shook his head, softly, then harder and brought his hands up to forcefully withdraw Javi’s hands from his face and push him back. Javi stared at him in surprise as he buried his face in his hands. “John, tell me what’s wrong, please. What happened? I’m sorry.” He kept saying that. What was he sorry for? It wasn’t his fault that Alex had left.   
  
“Why did he leave? _Tell me_ , Javi, how could he give up on us that way? How dare he? He’s a fucking moron, I hate him! _I hate him_ , oh God, I hate him so, so much!” he heard himself sob and felt a heat spreading in his chest, thinking _it’s true. It’s true, I do hate him, but I also love him and I miss him and he’s gone but I love him so, so much. How could he do this to me? How could he fucking do this to me?  
_  
Javi’s hand was on the side of his face again. He shook it off and scrabbled away, disgusted with Javi, and Alex, and the world, and most of all, himself; he sat in the damp grass and heard Javi stand slowly and walk over, then there was his voice, close to his face.  
  
“Who did? J-John, tell me who did this to you,” he said, softly. _Why isn’t he angry at me? Why doesn’t anyone ever get angry at me, why does nobody hate me, I don’t fucking understand it! He should be angry, and he should hate me, I pretended to love him for four weeks, he should be angry! Why, God, tell me why he isn’t angry!_  
  
He heard himself shout Alex’ name; muffled behind his hands.   
  
“John, what happened? Tell me what happened, please.” Javi asked, firmer this time, but still so calm. John shook his head.  
  
“He… Alex…” his voice was shaking hard, and he had to take a second to recompose himself. “I loved- I _love_ him. We were… for three months… but it always felt like it had been forever, and his- Rachel” his voice broke when he thought of her. Oh, Rachel. “His mother, she died, and the aftermath was that he left, he just left, and that… the one who… who called me when we were at the cinema?” he sobbed uncontrollably, and when Javi took his hand, squeezing I tightly and running his thumb over the back of it, he didn’t pull away.   
  
“ _He called me_ , _and I didn’t pick up_! Why didn’t I pick up? I’m so _stupid_ , I wanted him to call so badly, for so long, and then he did and it could all have been fine, but I didn’t pick up, and I didn’t call back, Javi. I’m such a fucking idiot, I’m such an idiot.” He hiccupped; Javi was rubbing his back clumsily, and John just wanted him to stop.   
  
“Oh, John. I’m so sorry.” He said quietly, and then “You’re not an idiot. It’s totally normal to be confused after a breakup.”’  
  
John shook his head, looking up at the sky. It was so bright.   
  
“But I’m not confused, I’m an idiot. That’s why he left! I mean… it was my fault. I shouldn’t make you listen to this shit.” He said shakily, forcing himself to his feet. Javi looked up at him, following him with his eyes as he picked up his backpack and stuffed his sketch pad in, then picked up his jacket and threw both over his shoulder.   
  
“What if I want to listen, John? What if I want to listen because _I love you_ and I know you don’t love me, but you have to talk about things like this.” Javi’s voice was so quiet, but John flinched at the words ‘I love you’ and looked back at him for a moment, then at the tips of his shoes. He sighed.   
  
“Look, Javi. I don’t love you, that’s true, and I’m sorry for that.” Javi blinked and looked at his knees in the damp grass.   
  
“But that doesn’t mean you’re not worth being loved, okay? I really, really like you, you’re an amazing guy, and it has nothing to do with you that I can’t get over Alex, and now, if you’d please get up, the grass is wet, you’ll catch a cold.” John continued, and then he was walking towards the other boy and pulling him to his feet.  
  
Javi looked up at him shyly. His eyes were glassy and red rimmed, and John let out a soft noise and took his hand, squeezing it softly. “Hey, this is definitely not worth crying over. Come on, Javi. Do you… want to get some coffee?” he asked gently, and Javi smiled a little, then, reluctantly shook his head, pulling his hand away and wiping his eyes before burying it in the pockets of his hoodie.  
  
“No. But thanks. We’ll see each other on Monday, right?” he asked, and John nodded, finding himself smiling back at him.   
  
“We will. Don’t forget to do the assignment.” He teased, and Javi laughed wetly, grimacing.   
  
“You do it, Laurens. This is not what I went to Uni for. But anyway...” He walked over to his jacket and packed his things, too; John waited for him, watching the orange sun and the orange leaves and feeling weirdly content for a moment. Javi had turned his back and was throwing on his parka, and John bounced uncomfortably on his heels, then cupped his hands and shouted-  
  
“Bye! See you.”   
  
The other boy turned over his shoulder, smiled and waved a lazy hand as he walked away. “Bye!”  
  
John stood in the park for a while longer, watching the spot where Javier had disappeared between the trees by the street; he listened to the chatter of the other people in the park and watched leaves fall from the tall trees, then turned, too, and made his way to the subway station.   
  
He felt very calm and didn’t quite know why. He hadn’t cried this hard in quite a while; the last time had been the morning after Alex had left, exactly…   
  
_Exactly two months ago._   
  
He sat in the subway and stared at nothing in particular, holding the mess his jacket pocket had made of his headphones in both his hands and listening to the train’s rattle as it ascended out of the darkness of Manhattan and crossed the Manhattan Bridge. Sunlight hit the side of John’s face. He looked up.  
  
The sun was setting behind Manhattan, drowning the entire city in golden and orange light. John muffled a gasp behind his hand and looked out of the window opposite of him.   
  
It was quiet in the wagon. He was the only passenger, and his heart was beating quickly.   
  
_What a view. Seriously, what a view.  
  
If only Alex could see this right now._  
  
To his surprise, the thought of Alex didn’t make him want to cry. There was a sort of familiar warmth in his chest, a fleeting hope, like a small bird, starting to flutter for the first time.   
  
John was confident that Alex would return.   
  
_He will return because I said we would last. When he came home the day Adams took over your treatment, I promised him we would last.  
  
And I really believed it, Rachel. I promised him because I really believed it. And I think that he-  
  
He believed me, too.  
_  
  
SEPTEMBER CAME with a cold wave, fog and red leaves all over the campus lawn in between the buildings. Alex’ semester started and immediately drowned him in such a lot of work that he – _him,_ _of all people_ – had a hard time keeping up with it all.   
  
After that evening on the bridge, and with the heat of the summer gone, Alex somehow, miraculously, got a little better.   
  
When Kitty came back from the coast, she had already forgiven him for not holding his word before he even apologized. He worked in the Coffeehouse from 3 to 8 pm after his last class every day. Afterwards, he’d either go home and collapse into bed, or he’d go to the university library and read until it closed. Alex had never lived this close to such a large, entirely accessible library before, and honestly, it was the best part of his day.   
  
His classes were insanely interesting, and his job was nice, he liked it, but the hours he spent in the library, sitting in its focused silence and warmth really helped him after that night, it helped him to remain calm and return to himself on the evenings he felt completely lost within his own thoughts and surroundings.  
  
The nights got colder and the days shorter, and if someone were to ask him how he felt, he’d be able to reply _fine. Numb, really._  
  
He knew that right beneath this numbness he carried shimmered the hyenas’ eyes, and the flatline of Rachel’s EKG, the sound of breaking teacups and the rattle of the trains passing beneath high, high bridges, but he managed to not listen too closely.   
  
He still went on walks on his free days, but he stayed away from that bridge. He mostly wandered around campus, to the library, and to the park, and wrote down the time at which the sun set entirely every day; it got earlier steadily.   
  
On the first Friday night in September, Kitty let him go home early because she had a party to go to and wanted to lock up. He waved at her as she jumped on her racing bike outside the Coffeehouse and drove off into the evening traffic; he stood and looked after her for a moment, then started strolling in the opposite direction, through the rush hour stream of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Most of the other pedestrians were walking into the other direction, so he had to push himself through the crowd, relieved when he reached a bigger street where the crowd discarded a little.   
  
He pushed his hands into his pockets as he walked and buried his face in the collar of his hoodie, shivering as a cool breeze brushed his neck. The day had been warm and clear, but it was a crisp night, and he figured they’d get to see the first frost tomorrow morning. He looked at his short legs as he strolled down the sidewalk, letting the stream of people around him carry him.  
  
_How fucking fast time passes, huh? It’s terrifying. I haven’t seen John in what now, two months?_ He pulled his hand out of his pocket and looked at his watch. _8 th September. Exactly two months._  
  
He let out a deep, shaky breath, trying to ignore the heavy pull in his chest. A church bell rang nearby; Alex stopped walking at a red streetlight while all the other pedestrians just crossed carelessly.  
  
It rang seven times, and Alex looked at the sky; it was a dark, grayish blue that reminded Alex of his first date with John when they’d watched the blue hour in the park. He mentally noted the time of the night’s start. The church bell stopped ringing, and suddenly, a thought occurred to him.  
  
_That woman in the church. Theodosia. How long did she not talk to anyone?_  
  
The streetlight had turned green, but Alex didn’t keep walking. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at the sky with wide eyes. People pushed past him. He thought of flickering lights in the coolness of a church. _This land was made for you and me…  
_  
_“I refused to arrive, sort of. I don’t know if it was a coping mechanism or if I was just an asshole- but I didn’t say a word for two months. Not to anyone. I completely locked the world out to fix all of it just in my head.”  
  
“I’m not saying it’s a good idea for you to try and fight this fight all alone. I’m just saying… I think sometimes, it’s good to stay silent for a while. Words can’t express everything. But don’t stay silent forever, you hear me?”_  
  
Cars passed and Alex looked at the sky, and the sky was gray and blue, the color of cornflowers and the sea on a windy day. The color of a dusky Manhattan skyline in the distance on a warm spring morning; the color of John’s favorite t-shirt.  
  
Alex suddenly started moving, stepped out of the crowd on the sidewalk, got out his phone, unlocked it with numb, cold fingers and booked a train ticket.  
  
  
HE RAN THE ENTIRE WAY BACK TO HIS DORM and sprinted upstairs, hastily packing the few things he’d brought and the law books he’d bought; he took his keys, his heart racing and a wide, conspicuous, excited smile on his face – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled and meant it – and put on a scarf, and then he was storming outside, locking his dorm room and leaving the key in the lock before running back outside and down the sidewalk through the evening, in the direction of the train station.   
  
_I’ll be home in time for Peggy’s birthday.  
  
I’ll be home.   
  
I’ll be home._  
_  
_ Alex didn’t really think about what he’d do if John wouldn’t forgive him; he knew he didn’t really deserve to be forgiven, but he just _had_ to try, because these two months had been too awful, he missed Maria and Eliza and Angelica and Herc and Laf and Peggy and John way too much, he missed their street and he missed their apartment, he missed being sent memes by Peggy and being shouted at for being late by Eliza, he missed Maria’s ice tea, he missed Herc’s dress patterns and fabric samples lying all around the apartment, he missed saying teasing his friends with in French with Laf and laughing with him when the others didn’t understand a word, he missed the fire escape and working at the flower shop, he’d even missed Jefferson’s goddamn southern drawl and Madison’s texting, the coffee shop and the trees outside John’s window, their shared showers and kisses and coffees and the regular _Lord of the Rings_ nights on Tuesdays, and he missed his mother – or at least his mother’s grave – and he missed _John_ , oh god, everything about John.   
  
He missed the elevated train and the Brooklyn Bridge, Atlantic Avenue and the East River, Brooklyn Heights park and yellow taxis and the beach and the lunch break businessmen in the Café Adrienne, he missed the certain light and the horrible smell of dead things and piss coming from the river, he missed street artists and brick buildings, he missed the Empire state building in the distance and the Statue of Liberty, he missed the people and the heartbeat of the city, he missed the sunrise and the sunset and everything in between and _New York_.   
  
He missed New York.   
  
He missed being home; he missed being with John, and he missed being okay.   
  
He sprinted into the station with his heart racing and his eyes glowing. His last-minute train was leaving in five minutes, and he ran through the station, grasping the handle of his backpack tightly.   
  
_I’ll be home._  
  
  
“JUST GO, ELIZA. I CAN LOCK DOORS BY MYSELF, YOU KNOW.” John shook his head at Eliza, who was standing at the door in a dark blue evening dress; Maria was holding on to her arm, the thin silver band on her ring finger shining in the light of the flower shop. They were going to Eliza’s parent’s apartment for dinner to finally announce their engagement. John leaned on the broom he was holding, watching Eliza fiddle with her brown purse anxiously.  
  
“Are you sure? I feel horrible just leaving you here all by yourself. Where’s Herc, anyway?” Johns shrugged, letting out a sigh and running his hand through his hair. “Coffee shop would be my guess. But I’m not sure. Listen, Eliza, seriously, just go. I’ll manage.” He said a little impatiently; Eliza made a discontented noise and Maria and John exchanged a good-natured eye-roll, Maria tugging her fiancée outside. “Come on, sweetie. Before we’re too late. See you tomorrow, John!” she waved at him over her narrow shoulder before they disappeared, and he let out a sigh, leaning heavier on the broom.  
  
He lazily started cleaning the floor, quietly humming _All by myself_ to himself as he moved the broom over the tiles and washed off the used cups from the day, cleaning the counter and then getting his stuff from the back room. He yawned as he made his way back to the front and grabbed his keys from the counter. He turned off the lights, kneeling on the tiles behind the counter and then strolled to the door, closing and locking it. Heavy traffic rushed past him and he put on his scarf, shivering against the biting air of the evening and startling and looking over his shoulder when suddenly, a slightly hoarse voice said his name.  
  
“John.”  
  
John turned on his heel, and his eyes widened.   
  
The bags under the boy’s eyes were so dark; his beard was poorly trimmed, his hair _short_ and messy, and he was pale, but he was smiling, smiling _so widely_ and happily and genuinely, and something, something inside John’s chest opened, something reconnected, and suddenly, the night was bright with light and color, the headlights of the cars white and the back lights flaming red, the blue of the sky so dark and deep and his heart was singing, and singing, and singing, as he heard himself breathe deeply through his still open mouth.   
  
He looked so different, but John had dreamed of seeing his face every night for two months. And now he was here. Now he was home.  
  
“Alex.” He whispered, and then he was striding towards him, and Alex dropped his backpack and met him halfway.   
  
They crashed into each other, intertwining, Alex hugging John’s middle and John embracing his shoulders and holding his head close to his shoulder. And John’s head was spinning as he pressed his face into Alex’ now short – why had he done that? – hair and took a deep breath, vanilla and coffee and weed and paper, like it was supposed to be. They fit against each other like puzzle pieces, still seamless like it had always been, and Alex was _here, here, here_ , small and warm and crying hard in his arms, and John knew he was crying too, but he was here, Alex was here and home and alive and they were together, _finally_ , like they were supposed to be.   
  
They held each other tightly, for ages, never wanting to let go, and people started staring when they passed, but John didn’t care. _Alex was here. His Alex was here._    
  
He'd imagined this moment a thousand times. He’d imagined another fight and tears, he’d imagined angry sex, he’d imagined a long, long talk, and though that talk was probably, _hopefully_ still to come, he right now, no words were needed. Right now, all there was to the world was them, two boys, intertwined, holding each other for dear life and crying into each other’s shoulders because _oh, how they’d missed each other._   
  
Two boys, less alone now that they were together in this great, strange world.  
  
John held Alex and Alex held John, it was forgiveness, and it was unimaginable.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. There's that. I told you it was going to be happy. 
> 
> I was actually planning to end this chapter on the most horrible cliff hanger and let them have a complicated conversation in the next chapter but by the time i finished this, I had been sitting at my computer for literally three days straight, and I am so fucking tired of these two not being okay, and so are they, and so are you, so here you go. This is not the end though. There will be a long heartfelt conversation, but I just wanted to get the forgivenessss can you imaaaagineee moment over with because I'm just  
> so tired   
> of writing  
> angst   
> (which is also why parts of this are so poorly written I'm sorryyy, I gotta confess sometimes I just didn't even try)  
> i gotta write some pure fluff after i finish this omG 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this, let me know if you did (please) and I'll see y'all you in two weeks for The Talk! Hugs!   
> (or less i really want it to be less but it probably won't but you guys should take what you can get anyway because this fic is... well, starting to come to an end? I know, I'm crying, too) 
> 
> Tranlations:  
> De que est-ce que tu te souviens?  
> ~ How much do you remember?


	17. Can you imagine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness. Can you imagine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK I CAN EXPLAIN  
> A) I HAVE AN INTERNSHIP  
> B) I HAD A FRIEND OVER FOR THE WEEKEND AND WE WATCHED A LOT OF TV  
> C) I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME OKAY
> 
> Okayy so this. This is it. And this was so hard to write cuz I just... Idk I felt obligated to write a very deep and heartfelt talk between them (becuase let's be real have they ever had one of those before) and I hope I didn't fail you guys but seriously I write this in three days and it's unbeta'd and I literally haven't slept properly in a week.  
> So. Here you go. You asked for it lmao  
> Sorry this is so short by the way
> 
> Things that are in here:   
> \- Uh people throw punches (one punch. singular. and they apologize right afterwards) do I have to tag that in the archive warnings? someone help me I don't know  
> \- strong language, lots of it (I know I know tell us something new)  
> \- implied/referenced suicidal... thoughts? (Alex talks a little bit about the bridge scene? Does he? I can't even remember ugh)  
> \- yeh I think that's it but I'm tired and can't be trusted please tell me if I missed something (ugh)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this bumpy ride! :)

 

  
ALEX COULDN’T REMEMBER A PERIOD OF HIS LIFE IN WHICH HE HADN’T FELT LIKE HE WAS RUNNING OUT OF TIME.  
  
Even when he was only in kindergarten, doing his best to live the life of a five-year old boy and learn English since most of the other kids didn’t speak a lot of Spanish at the same time, his little heart was already cradling and raising the biggest kind of tragedy a mind like his could carry; convincing himself that he was far below average at everything he did, that he wasn’t doing the things he was doing well enough, not with enough passion and vigor.  
  
He’d worked hard, harder and quicker than any other child his age. In middle school, his teachers started giving him extra essay and literature assignments because he tended to study ahead anyway, constantly scared he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the rest of his class. In high school, while his classmates reluctantly spent their tenacious periods in St. Croix’s heat, slowly reading _The Catcher In The Rye_ and _To Kill A Mockingbird_ , he sat in senior classes, a scrappy little immigrant with a shitty haircut from an even tinier island than St. Croix surrounded by tall, cool-voiced and calm-faced seniors and sat in a too big chair, his feet barely reaching the cheap linoleum floor of the classroom and read _Macbeth_ and the original version of _Maria Stuart_.  
  
He’d found himself confused and not understanding half of what was going on in this class that was quite simply way too complicated for his age. But still, he was sure it was his fault. Surely, he was supposed to understand all of this; there had to be some reason, there had to be something wrong with _him_ and his brain for not understanding most of the German words in Schiller’s work.  
  
So, his logical conclusion was to simply push himself further and to study harder. He studied, and read every book he could get his hands on, and learned, wrote tons and tons and improved, and lived like he was constantly running out of time; always ready to jump up and do whatever he had to do in order to be a part of something.  
  
He never settled. He lived the fast-paced life of someone who was sure they were never good, passionate, or quick enough.  
  
Until he’d met John. Then, his world had come to a screeching halt. And suddenly, he’d wanted to have even more time on this earth, live it all thoroughly and slowly and attentively, savor every millisecond he spent with him. He’d wished for time to stop so he and John wouldn’t have to part.  
  
And now, he was standing in the heart of New York city, the city that never slept and always raced, always busy, always wide awake, and he was holding him again.  
  
And for the first time in his life, he was so aware of how time passed slowly around the two of them in their mute bubble of still standing time.  
  
The outside world’s quickly ticking pace tousled his hair with cool evening wind that tasted like the sea and exhaust fumes, and he felt it brush against his neck when John shifted to pull him closer. It was in the beat of John’s heart against his own, in the blood roaring in his ears and in his deep breaths as he tried and failed to keep himself from crying.  
  
There were too many different things happening right now. There were John’s quiet sobs in his ear, and there was the proximity and warmth and John’s fingers digging into Alex’ shoulder blades and his smell in Alex’ nose and mouth and their shared breaths and heartbeats and the flowing time in the steps and chatter of pedestrians hurrying around them and in the noise of the cars and buses passing them.  
  
The city around them was hustling, busy and messy, the brightness of it growing while the evening lowered itself onto its chest like a dark blue-greyish duvet, but despite the tears making their way down his face and the unsettling thought of the sentence building in his throat, the inevitable ‘ _John, we have to talk_ ,’ Alex felt weirdly calm.  
  
From the second John had run towards him, his beautiful, _beautiful_ and familiar face a mix of shock, joy and unspeakable relief, and he’d felt himself letting his backpack slide to the floor to rush towards him and cage him in his arms, Alex had the feeling a huge weight had been taken off his chest, a range of mountains coming down with every step he took away from his backpack and towards John  
  
Alex felt himself embracing John closer. John, in return, shifted and buried his face in the crook of Alex’ neck; Alex could feel him inhale his air, the slight scratch of stubble against his sensitive skin, and closed his eyes where his face was buried against John’s scarf. It felt so good, so wonderful and right, homely and whole to have John near him again.  
  
For a second, when John had started walking towards him, he’d been afraid he was going to punch him or something, but to be honest, he’d have deserved that. He reopened his eyes, keeping them slightly hooded as he quietly asked himself how the hell he was supposed to convince John to let him stay now that he was here. He hadn’t really thought about what he’d do if John didn’t forgive him; maybe he’d just find a bridge and throw himself off of it for good. He didn’t really have a plan b in case John would send him away again. Of course, he’d known all along that he’d done a lot of damage by leaving in the first place, but he hadn’t realized just how huge that damage was until he’d seen John’s face the moment the other boy had turned around.  
  
John had lost weight, and his eyes were red, from crying a lot or smoking a lot or both, Alex had noticed that immediately, but what was even more prominent to him was the exhaustion. John seemed so tense, as if he’d spent the past two months anxiously pretending to be someone he was not and was scared that Alex wouldn’t even recognize him anymore. Alex tightened his grip, and John stifled a sob against the side of his face.  
  
_I will always recognize you, John Laurens, you idiot, always. You will always be the one thing I see in all the world’s messiness, no matter how thing turn out, no matter how different and tense and puffy from crying you look._ Alex cried harder and breathed into John’s scarf, the city – New York, his hometown spinning around them as they held each other for countless minutes and he asked himself how he could ever even have _tried_ to leave this behind. _There is so much we need to talk about, though. There’s so much I need to tell him- there’s so much I need to apologize for. Oh, John, my dear John, how do I pay you back for all this pain I have caused?  
  
_ As if reading Alex’ thoughts, John suddenly loosened his grip, and Alex heard himself letting out a yelp, unwilling to let go. He clung onto the back of John’s bomber jacket, but John forcefully withdrew him, an arm still lingering at his waist, and suddenly, there was a sort of weak but still heavy fist colliding with the side of Alex’ face. The pain came a second too late, but when it came, he cried out, and he was stumbling backwards, away from John’s embrace and his suddenly angry, hurt expression.  
  
Alex brought his hand up to his face and wiped his nose, looking down at it with horror when he saw that it had come away with a streak of red. He pressed it back to his nose; his jaw was burning.  
  
“What the fuck, John?” he asked, confused but not really angry, knowing he’d sort of deserved that and was displeased when it didn’t come out as sharp as he’d intended, with tears still streaming down his face and his nose stuffy with blood and snot. John was looking at him with huge eyes.   
  
“Oh my god. Oh, god, what… I’m so sorry. Uh… shit. I’m sorry, Alex. Are you okay?” he asked, hurrying towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder as he spat blood on the sidewalk.   
  
Alex wiped his mouth and nose again and looked up, giving him a look of complete, utter confusion, staring at him for a second.   
  
“… it’s alright I guess, I had it coming, but still, what the fuck?” He tapped his fingers against his pulsing nose, and pushed John’s hand away, and looked at the other boy incredulously, who was staring at him with as much worry as anger.   
  
Instead of replying to his question, John closed the distance between them again and gripped Alex’ shoulders, staring him down.  
  
“ _Two months_.” He snarled through gritted teeth. Alex blinked, gaping at him, breathing through his mouth. There was a silence between them, the sounds of the street growing loud within it while passing pedestrians threw them the weirdest looks.  
  
“Two fucking month and you don’t manage to answer a _single. Goddamn. Text._ And you don’t even pick up the phone. Not _once_ , Alex. You could have been dead, for all I knew! You have no idea how that was for me!” John was shouting now; tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as he was shaking Alex’ frame. Alex let him. _God, how could I do this?  
  
_ “I did call, though. Like, five times.” He heard himself whisper, his voice broken and nasal. John huffed a laugh, letting go of his shoulders and giving him a death stare.  
  
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Yes, you called. Five times. Or something like that. Well, guess what, Hamilton, I called, too, like ten times a day. So you can go and shove those five calls right up your ass, you prick.” He punctuated his words by shoving his index finger into Alex’ chest harshly, and then he was turning on his heel abruptly. And walking away.  
  
Before Alex knew what he was doing, he had picked up his backpack and was running after him, trying to catch up with his long, vigorous steps. “John, please, I just want to talk,” he said urgently, trying to put on his backpack and hold his nose at the same time. John didn’t even look back at him. He was way better at making his way through the crowd than Alex, and Alex felt himself panicking slightly. _Don’t you fucking lose him now. Don’t you lose sight of him here.  
  
_ He tried to get a grip of John’s arm, scrabbling for purchase on his sleeve, but John wrenched out of his grasp, practically hissing at him. “Don’t you _fucking_ touch me, Alexander,” he gritted out. Alex flinched, but reached for his sleeve again, his time managing to pull him to a halt. John turned around, glaring, and Alex swallowed, gripping his sleeve tighter when he tried to get away.  
  
“John, please.” He breathed.  
  
“Let me go, Hamilton.” John’s voice was cool and quivering just slightly; Alex kind of had the feeling he was going to punch him again. “No.” he replied firmly, clinging on to him. “I’m not letting you go, Laurens, not again. I’m not leaving until we’ve talked.”  
  
“You’re a piece of shit, Alex. You can’t force me to talk to you. Leave me alone, and stop following me.” John bit; he was obviously having a hard time controlling his temper, but Alex didn’t care.  
  
“If you want to hit me, John, go ahead. Hit me. Punch me, come on, I deserve it, do it, break my nose, for all I care – although I don’t quite get your sudden change of mind, I mean, you hugged me, isn’t that kind of a clear sign that you’re happy to see me? – but I _have_ to talk to you. Right now.” John gritted his teeth. He stepped closer, towering over Alex, and looking down at him.  
  
“Maybe, Alex, my sudden change of mind is caused by me finally realizing that maybe, _just maybe_ , I don’t really want to talk to you. Maybe it’s better if you leave me alone right now.” He paused, and his bitter voice was dripping with sarcasm when he continued. “I guess we’ll see each other around anyway, but until then- don’t forget to _write_.”  
  
Alex flinched. “That’s not fair.” He whispered. John tried to wrench out of his grasp once more. “Go cry somewhere else, okay?”  
  
Alex lowered his eyes to their feet; he looked at John’s oversized Doc Martens. _This is all coming apart. He’s not going to let me stay. There’s no forgiveness here; what did I think?_ He pulled the lump out of his throat with his teeth.  
  
“I’m begging you,” he breathed.  
  
John let out a tired scoff. “Do you honestly think that after two months, _two months_ …” his voice arched upwards towards the end of his sentence, and he left off choking on a gasp, covering his eyes with his free hand.  
  
“Please. _Leave_.”  
  
John’s voice was broken when he lifted it again, obviously straining against weeks and months and _so many nights_ spent all by himself wishing Alex _hadn’t_ left. And now he was specifically _asking him to leave_ ; in another life, Alex would have laughed at the absurdity of it.  
  
But Alex wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t going to leave now. _Hell_ no, he wasn’t going to give up so easily, he was _Alexander fucking Hamilton_ , and his father had left, his mother had died, he’d grown up buck-wild, but he was never one to give up.  
  
“I have left you once already. I’m not ever making that mistake again,” he muttered. John let out a harsh breath; Alex stared at his whitened knuckles clenching around his sleeve and tried to ignore the pulsing pain in his jaw.  
  
“Well, then, fucking _think_ before you leave the goddamn state just because of an argument as pathetic and tiny and unnecessary as we had! Fucking _think_ before you ignore the hundreds of calls and literal thousands of texts I left you, fucking _think_ before you stay gone for _two goddamn months_ , without a message, without any kind of clue as to if you were even still alive, _Christ_ , Alex! We were together, couples get into arguments, but if you _really loved me_ , you would have at least tried to explain properly why you didn’t want to open up, and we could have taken a break, and it would have saved me, and also you, a _goddamn_ _shit ton_ _of pain_!” He ran his hand through his hair; strands had come loose from it and were falling into the rosiness of his cheeks, and Alex wanted so badly to brush them behind his ear, biting back the urge to tell John again that he _had_ called, and that John just _hadn’t picked up_. Instead, he didn’t say anything, causing John to sigh again, straining against his grasp once more.  
  
“Look, Alex, just- I don’t want to talk to you right now. I really don’t need to do this to myself, so please- this one time… just- just _leave. Please_.“ he said softly and coolly, a tone that reminded Alex very suddenly of Burr, _oh, shit, Burr, oh no, is it weird that I missed him, too? B_ ut when he looked up to meet John’s eyes, there was something else in them.  
  
A small, pained and desperate flicker that screamed _don’t you dare to leave right now, don’t you dare to leave again, not again, oh God, not again_ , and Alex wanted nothing more than to fan that spark into a flame and light all the world’s candles on fire with it.  
  
He took a deep breath _. Please. Please, I love you, I still love you, I never stopped. Please.  
  
_ “Listen... Please, John. I know I don’t deserve to- to be here, and, and, and to talk to you, and follow you and generally be around you, but-“ They were both staring at Alex’ hand that was still clinging on to the fabric of John’s jacket; it was slowly and inevitably making its way down to John’s familiar hand. Alex was itching to hold it, remember the feel of John’s skin against his, but he could feel John’s narrowed eyes on him, a silent and icy _don’t you dare_ tangible in the space of air between them.  
  
Alex opened his mouth, his lips quivering and eyes watering again. “- I know I don’t deserve you, John Laurens. But hear me out.” Alex swallowed; John had closed his eyes halfway.  
  
“That would be enough,” he finished quietly.  
  
He felt the other boy tense slightly at the familiar phrasing.  
  
_I wish you could just let me inside your heart. Let me be a part of the narrative, Alex- that would be enough.  
  
_ John tensed even more when Alex’ fingertips brushed against his bare wrist as he forced himself to withdraw his hand from his arm. Neither of them was breathing for a slow, quiet minute as the city poured its noise and people around them; Alex lifted his head slightly, dropping his other hand from his nose as well and not caring as a drop of blood ran into his mouth. He peeked up at John through his lashes.  
  
He was looking at the concrete of the sidewalk, silent and motionless and quietly crying, and it didn’t seem like he was going to walk away, not even without Alex’ hand stopping him.  
  
They were quiet, an eternity passing, and then John let out a sigh, and his body went limp. He swayed into Alex a hair, and then pulled back, wiping at his eyes and staring at the shop windows they were standing next to. It was the front of a bakery that was still open, and Alex recognized it after a second as the one they’d stolen donuts from on their first date. Alex watched the very same barista that they’d sang _My Tom’s Diner Will Go On_ to wiping down the tables inside, and listened to John taking a breath.  
  
“You want to talk, Ham? Fine. We’ll talk. But before that, I need some damn coffee.” John said very quietly, and then he was walking into the bakery. Alex lingered outside the door for another moment to even out his breathing and tell his racing heart to calm down.  
  
_He’s giving me a chance. He’s giving me a chance to show him I’ve changed, Mom, and oh, I will prove it. I’ll take all the opportunities. Not just the ones you didn’t take; all of them.  
  
I_ _swear, Mom, I’m not throwing away my shot this time.  
  
_ Alex straightened, took a deep breath and slowly followed John into the bakery.  
  
  
THEY GOT COFFEE and, for the good old time’s sake, a donut – they got both for free, since John started hissing at Alex again once he joined him inside, and Alex was using all the shop’s napkins to aid to his nose that was bleeding all over the front of his hoodie and the floor, and the barista told them to get fucking lost, and so they did and walked through the evening’s busy streets, unconsciously making their way down to Atlantic Avenue and the Brooklyn Heights Park.  
  
They were quiet until they passed the church, and John broke the silence they’d settled into, asking if he wanted to go visit Rachel.  
  
Alex considered for a moment, then shook his head, silently apologizing to her; he would go later, but right now, he had to put this right first. He was pretty sure she would understand.   
  
“No. No, I don’t, not right away, at least.” He said softly, and John nodded a little uncomfortably, breathing deeply and taking a sip of his coffee, wincing at the heat and then starting to walk again, silently. He was looking strictly ahead, because he was afraid if he took one glance at Alex, he would shatter; he would fly into his arms sobbing, all restraint thrown to the wind, and he didn’t want that; he wouldn’t make it that easy for Alex. He couldn’t; not with how hard the past months had been on him.  
  
He could feel Alex staring at him as they walked with no real destination; his eyes wide and sad and somewhat desperate, wandering over the side of John’s face.   
  
He seemed unable to believe that he was actually here; here with John, and John found it hard to believe himself. He'd wished for this to happen for over sixty days; sixty-three days, eight weeks, full of nothingness and pain. John couldn’t forget that so easily, and so he felt his eyebrows drawing together and his heart clenching painfully when Alex started speaking.  
  
There was a huff from where he was walking next to him; John caught a glimpse of him looking around himself as they were walking. “Well, look around. I thought I’d never see this again.” He breathed, more to himself than to John. His frown deepened. He took another sip of his coffee; it burned his throat, but he ignored it. In fact, the pain was good. It reminded him of the heat that still somehow boiled in his gut, that had risen earlier after their reunion. He’d never really gotten angry at Alex; even when he’d left, he hadn’t managed to get angry, and when that had occurred to him earlier, he’d gotten angry immediately.  
  
Alex seemed to be waiting for some sort of reaction from him; at least a ‘What did you think you’d never see again?’, but John decided to let him wait. _So he can fucking see what it’s like to wait for things that he isn’t sure will happen._  
  
During another long silence – they had stopped at a red light now, beyond that street was the dark, streetlamp-lit green of the park, filled with other people on walks, people on their way home, joggers and people walking their dogs; Alex he was obviously searching for words – John closed his eyes briefly, breathing the autumn air deeply. Alex nudged his arm when the light turned green, and he put some more space between them as they crossed the street together.   
  
“Look, John…” Alex started quietly and left off again.  
  
“What are you doing here, Alex?” John muttered after a moment. He meant it; Alex had had more than enough time to think about what he was going to say to John, he’d had two months, and it was honestly just kind of pathetic that he didn’t know what to say now.  
  
Alex blinked quickly. “I- I know I’ve been in Philadelphia for two months, but you can’t deny me access to this city or something, you know that, right?” he replied, a little put off, and John blinked. _So, Philadelphia? What the fuck was he doing in Philadelphia?_ Alex cocked an eyebrow and John caught himself rolling his eyes.  
  
“You know that’s not what I mean. I mean, what are you trying to accomplish by buying me coffee and forcing me to walk and talk with you? What do you think you’re doing?” he said stiffly, watching hurt flicker across the other boy’s features as he cast his eyes downward from the corner of his eye.  
  
Alex stared at their feet; they were in the park now, making their way to the promenade through the semi-darkness. The sounds of the streets were muffled a little by the trees, they were left with their silence, and the occasional chatter of passing pedestrians.  
  
“I’m… going for an apology.” He briefly flicked his eyes up at John, then quickly looked back down when John turned his head slightly to face him.   
  
“Go on then. Say something.” He snarled after another one of those silences. Alex was chewing on his lip, and John could see a smear of blood still sitting on his upper lip and quickly looked away, pushing the pang of guilt for punching him – _punching_ _him! What has gotten into me?!_ – back down into his stomach.  
  
“I’m trying to figure out where to start.” Alex said quietly, and they fell into silence again, both chasing after their own thoughts until they reached the promenade.   
  
It was busier out here; people tended to get pulled in by the infamous Manhattan skyline, and John found his eyes glued to it for a moment, as well. It was brightly lit, glowing and loud with life, a place John had always wanted to exist in but had inevitably never managed to afford; Manhattan was a dream practically nobody could afford, but kept dreaming anyway.   
  
They walked until they reached the parapet, surrounded by tourists and their expensive camera phones, trying to get a shot that wasn’t unbelievably grainy and horrible.   
  
John looked out across the water, and Alex was looking at him, and then, suddenly, there were two words, and John almost snorted when he heard Alex say a soft, uncertain “I’m sorry”.  
  
He turned to face him briefly, incredulous. “Damn right, you’re sorry.” He muttered dryly. His coffee had gone cold in his hand, and he discarded it in a nearby trashcan, leaving Alex standing at the parapet, alone and slumped into himself for a moment.   
  
“What the fuck do you expect me to say to that?” he said loudly, still standing a few feet away; Alex looked up and reluctantly left his place at the parapet, which was very soon occupied by a tourist, her camera’s viewfinder glued to her face, came towards him, letting his cup follow John’s into the bin and then stood in front of him, fiddling with the cuffs of his hoodie and looking at John, who was still staring at the skyscrapers across the river.  
  
“I don’t really expect you to say anything, John.” He then whispered. “And honestly, I just want you to know that…” Alex sighed and followed John’s gaze across the water. John took the chance to finally take a closer look at him. The light of the nightly Manhattan was catching in the dark softness of his eyes, his slightly chapped lips parted as he was searching for the right words, his face crunched up in a small frown. His skin looked soft and warm and John wanted to touch it, never stop touching it because his cheeks were covered in peach-fuzz and a little rosy from the cool night air in the light of the city, and John realized he was starting to get lost in the sight of Alex’ face and bit his tongue to stop himself from interrupting Alex with the slow ‘ _I love you’_ creeping its way up his throat. _Shut the fuck up, Laurens. You can’t make it this easy for him; you can’t, you can’t, no matter how much you want to.  
  
_ Alex looked back at him, and John didn’t look away quickly enough, and so they kind of just stared at each other for a moment; neither of them wanted to look away, so they didn’t. John felt himself swallow, and realized that his stomach had stopped boiling again; a long time ago.   
  
And then Alex took a breath. And the world around them faded into irrelevance once more, and all John could see was Alex as he opened his mouth to speak  
  
“… us breaking apart… none of it was your fault, okay? It was entirely to blame on me. And I know it’s not a proper excuse- or let’s say, I could have gone about it differently, and we could have just, I don’t know, taken a break instead of breaking up, but- I just needed some time to sort myself out, to… to readjust to the situation, to her…” He took a shaky breath, his eyes glossy and huge. He was already starting to cry again; John didn’t know what to do with his hands.   
  
“… to her- to _my Mom_ being gone. And I haven’t!” He said, suddenly very loud, voice quivering and bitter, letting out a pathetic huff, throwing his hands up and then running them through his messy hair. “I still haven’t. I still think about her every day. Like, literally, every day, John. You probably know that… after her funeral, in that week… after I left for the first time… I ju- I just- I _collapsed_. And trust me when I tell you that you don’t want the details-“   
  
John realized that he did want the details; that he wanted to know everything. _Because I missed you, and I missed your voice, I missed your stories and your smile and your face and everything about you, and I want to know what you’ve been up to, and you never talk about your feelings, you never explain them, even though on that day, that day we got together, you’re the one who made me promise to tell you if something was wrong. You’re the one who wanted us to get better at communicating our problems, and I missed you, and I want to know even the ugliest details- so I’ll understand. I want to understand why you left me, so please-  
  
_ “-because it was probably the worst mental state I’ve ever been in. And that- that says a lot, John. I just, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t eat, and I took like, pills, and I drank, first pints coffee and then other things, you know, and I would like to tell you that it’s gotten better, but- to be honest, it hasn’t. Not at all. Over- I kept getting worse and worse and worse, and I was constantly telling myself that I would manage someday, that one day I would wake up and I wouldn’t feel completely empty and dead, missing you, missing _her_ , but I didn’t. I just... it didn’t happen, John, and I...” He choked on a sob, pressed his lips tightly together, then inhaled softly, whispering.   
  
“I think I need help. I need help. I already knew I did when I called you- I wasn’t going to, I didn’t want to call you because then I’d have to face what I’d done… to you, but I couldn’t help myself, because-“ He gasped into his wrist, and then looked at John, and John’s face screwed up, his chin shaking, and all he could think was _Oh, Alex. Oh, my Alex.  
_  
Alex pressed his lips together tightly again, muffling a sob, and then there was the faintest, most distraught, saddest smile on his lips, and he shrugged, tiredly, softly.  
  
“… because I missed you. I missed you _so_ much, John. I didn’t know what else to do anymore, I just wanted to hear your voice, I _needed_ to hear your voice, and then… when you didn’t pick up, I thought- no, I knew you’d given up on me, too… and I don’t know why, but from that point on, it didn’t get worse anymore. It just… it stayed the same way, and I got so numb, like nothing meant anything anymore; I went to work, and I went to Uni, and I cried and I studied and I ate and I slept, but _nothing meant anything_. I was so empty. I was _so_ … _so empty_ …” he lowered his face, hiding it in his hands, crying softer now, incoherent, meaningless sounds pouring out of him, and John, who was crying now, too, couldn’t move. He was glued to the spot, hands clenched into shaking fists limply at his sides as he watched Alex cry into his hands. Then, Alex looked up again, facing the skyline as he wiped his wet cheeks with the cuffs of his hoodie. His voice was damp and broken when he continued. _  
_  
“But I shouldn’t even be telling you this- because I’m the one who left, I’m the one who was cowardly and confused enough to think leaving was a good idea. And it wasn’t. It was the worst, most illogical and stupid thing I’ve ever done. In all my life. And I know you do, somehow, blame yourself because- I know you, and I know it’s what you do… what we do- but please- don’t blame yourself for this- for me leaving.” He took a deep, horribly shaking breath and wiped the skin beneath his eyes once more with a small, exhausted eye-roll.  
  
“Alex…” John managed, feeling like he was going to choke on his own voice. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say; but his heart was in actual pieces at the sight of Alex crying. And he just wanted him to stop. He wanted so badly to cradle him in his arms and pull him close and tell him that there was no need to cry because John already knew that he wasn’t going to send Alex away again. Even if he wanted to, he was pretty sure he couldn’t.   
  
He was too tired of being parted from him. He was too weak. If he would be parted from Alex again, he knew it would finally break him. He was too tired of not being okay.  
  
Alex looked at him when he heard John say his name, and John covered his mouth with his left hand when he saw the other boy’s face.   
  
He seemed to almost startle a little at the sound of his own name rolling off John’s tongue. He seemed to recognize it as what it was, a sort of turning point in their conversation, a sign that John was warming to the idea of him being here again, a sign that he wanted him to stay. His skin was glowing with tears but that hopeful, boyish smile was back on his face, and John, fighting back the desire to pull him in by his neck and kiss that beautiful smile, was the first to break their staring.   
  
Alex blinked, slowly snapping out of it, and when he lifted his voice again, looking at the tips of his shoes, it was even quieter; nothing but a whisper. “Leaving… was my decision, and it had nothing to do with you, and it was stupid and irrational and immature and horrible and- I’m sorry. I’m so _, so_ sorry _,_ John.” He said heavily, his voice shaking and twisting in his throat as more tears broke from his eyes, and John felt himself melting for him and his words and the sincerity he said them with. He wasn’t lying; apparently, he was done with not telling the truth.  
  
“I’m not saying you should forgive me or anything. I understand that- I’d get if you didn’t want me back. I wouldn’t if I were you. I’d get it if you wanted me to leave. I will if you ask me to, John. I will leave you alone and I will go back to Philadelphia and I will disappear out of your life, if that’s what you want. I don’t deserve your forgiveness- I know I don’t. But just- I needed you to know it wasn’t your fault. None of it.”   
  
John watched Alex swallow, unable to stop himself from lifting his hands and bringing them up to Alex’ face anymore, wiping his cheeks with his thumbs softly, chills going down his spine at the feeling of Alex’ skin beneath his hands. It was smooth and warm and damp from the tears and John shuddered. Alex flicked his eyes up at him through his thick, wet lashes, probably even unconsciously leaning into the touch, making his heart race and swell, and suddenly, John became painfully aware of how affectionate the gesture was; he quickly pulled back and put some more space between them, his hands shaking slightly as he clenched them around the hems of his jacket so they wouldn’t do any more stupid things.   
  
Alex looked up at him once more, something mildly resembling hurt flashing across his features briefly when John pulled away. He gasped softly around his next words.   
  
“And John… I love you. I still do – and I know it sounds cheesy, but I meant what I said that- that night. I won’t ever stop loving you, no matter what. And I’m so sorry.” His voice broke and he brought a shaking hand up to his face, wiping his cheeks again and then keeping his sweater-pawed hands where John’s hand been just moments ago, looking at the tips of their shoes.  
  
John stared at him, his eyes wide and incredulous. His head was swimming, his heart racing in his throat, _he… he still loves me?_  
  
He didn’t quite know what to say to that – of course, he still loved Alex. Maybe he’d only started loving him again tonight, or he’d simply never stopped loving him, he didn’t know; the only thing he did know was that he loved him, so much, but he still didn’t know what to say, because he could still taste Javi on his lips, he remembered their talk in the park, he remembered waking up on a Sunday morning and knowing he’d feel nothing ever again; knowing all there would be from now on was this horrible, horrible aching loneliness. Knowing he’d wake up every day waiting with a deep pit in his chest.  
  
Only, was that really true? He’d felt something when he’d started thinking of Alex while Javi kissed him; he’d felt something when he hadn’t called Alex back that night. He’d felt something when he’d seen Alex for another first time only about an hour ago, he was feeling something now as he was looking into the eyes of a boy that he’d loved, that he still loved, who’d broken his heart and now, with a couple of words, had started piecing it back together somehow.   
  
The only question was if John would allow him to continue piecing it back together.  
  
“Let’s head back.” He heard himself say; softly and quietly, nothing but a hum, really. He could feel Alex watching him as he turned, his head bowed, and started walking away.  
  
When Alex didn’t move, probably uncertain if he was supposed to follow him, John didn’t stop walking; he buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and shouted over his shoulder: “Are you coming, or what?”  
  
Alex hurried to catch up with him.  
  
  
ON THEIR SILENT WAY BACK DOWN ATLANTIC AVENUE, Alex itching with anxiety and uncertainty, they ended up going to the church, after all. It was past 8pm, so the church itself was locked, but they made their way through an archway into the yard, quietly walking side by side, two feet apart.  
  
Alex got change out of his pocket and bought a thick, white candle; they walked slowly through the empty, semi-dark and unbelievably quiet park and towards Rachel’s grave.  
  
Alex hadn’t been here since the funeral, and it was so strange, so horribly strange to see the wooden cross, a little washed off by rain, but the letters of her name still standing out darkly against the bright wood now, after two months. Not strange in a bad way, though; strange in a quiet, humble and sort of homely way that reminded him of lazy summer afternoons in St. Croix, the thick carpet in their apartment’s living room and the way the sunlight looked from underwater.  
  
They stood in front of her grave quietly, Alex holding the candle in his left hand so he wouldn’t be tempted to try and hold John’s hand again, and looked down at the cross and the slightly sad-looking sunflowers someone – probably John – had left.   
_  
_ The night was cool and windy, smelling of leaves and fall and uncertainty, and Alex read his mother’s name on the wooden cross, _Rachel Faucette,_ and gripped the unlit candle a little tighter.  
  
It had been his decision to write only Rachel’s maiden name instead of his father’s, too; he felt like James Hamilton didn’t deserve his name to be on the gravestone of such a wonderful woman he’d caused so much pain. No, he definitely didn’t. If he hadn’t left, maybe things would have gone differently with Rachel; maybe they could have afforded a stem cell transplantation, and maybe Alex wouldn’t have been all alone with the decisions he had to make about her treatment. _You piece of shit- why did you leave her? Why did you leave Jemmy, why did you leave me?_  
  
“Do you remember that talk I had?”   
  
Alex jumped a little and looked up at John when he suddenly raised his voice. He was surprised he was talking at all; thus far, their conversation had been pretty one-sided in the most frustrating and emotionally drenching way, and Alex felt his heart pace up slightly at how small John’s voice sounded, how reserved and absent, but peaceful, _so peaceful_ that Alex caught himself thinking _please, stay like that. Don’t let us fight again. I don’t want to fight anymore, please don’t get mad again.  
  
_ “What?” he asked softly. John was still looking at the grave, at the sunflowers and the forget-me-nots the gardeners had planted at the funeral in the dim, mustard yellow light of the occasional lamps in the garden.  
_  
_ “At her funeral. The talk I had about her… about the beach.” Alex blinked, and remembered the wind in the trees, Peggy’s hand rubbing his back as he was crying silently, the way John’s notes shook horribly in his hands when he’d finished talking. He lowered his head, nodding as he stared at his feet, eyes hooded. _  
  
_ “… yeah. Of course, I remember. What about it?” he murmured, listening to John taking a breath, then another one. _  
  
_ “In that talk, I mentioned a conversation I had with her… at the beach.” John swallowed, and Alex remembered how fond his voice had sounded when he talked about Rachel at the beach. He remembered the two of them walking, laughing and talking by the waterline, his hair wild in the harsh wind and her dress fluttering, grey, covered in tiny daisies. He remembered John turning around when he yelled their names, grinning, his teeth bright as he shouted that he loved him across the sand.  
  
Everything had changed after that day.   
  
Because on that day, Washington had left for DC, and it was the first night of many John had held him while he cried himself to sleep; it was the day he’d realized that no matter how much he wanted them to, good things never lasted long. _  
  
_ “You didn’t say what you talked about, though.” He replied a little absently, frowning softly. _Turn around. Let me see you_. He caught a glimpse of John nodding heavily beside him from the corner of his eye.  
  
“Exactly. I… it was pretty personal and sad, and-“ He huffed a sad laugh. “-I didn’t want to go into detail too much since everyone was already crying... but we talked about letting go of old grudges and anger and… not allowing your past pain to define who you are.” _  
  
_ Alex swallowed, glancing at him furtively, his heart thudding in his throat. “Yeah?” he said lamely _  
  
_ “We were talking about my father. What he did to me. And I said I didn’t want to talk about it, and she gave me a prep talk about how I should learn to let go and not be a prisoner of my old self and stuff like that. I almost cried, it was so good.” John smiled down at Rachel’s grave softly. His eyes were glowing and Alex wanted to cry. _Yes. Yes, I remember her prep talks.  
  
_ “She always was good with words.” He managed, causing John to frown slightly, still smiling, but not at Alex but at Rachel, and it seemed so far away. _  
  
_ “And you keep saying the one thing you got from her are your eyes.” He muttered, more to himself than to Alex.  
_  
_ “Huh?” _  
  
_ “You’re a lot more alike than you think, you know.” And now, John finally looked up at him; his smiled still soft and absent but _there,_ so bright and real and _John_ , and it was enough to make Alex’ heart burst with an unfamiliar, old happiness that he hadn’t felt in so, so long. He smiled back breathlessly, chuckling in confusion. _  
  
_ “What? No. She’s a way better person than me. She’s… she’s wonderful. She’s the best. I’m…well. Me.” He shrugged sheepishly, shying away from the way John was looking at him. His gaze was unwavering and loaded, and Alex was the first to break away; he didn’t have the strength to unpack it.  
_  
_ John turned away again, as well now: He looked at the cross, still smiling a little. “That’s right. You’re you.” They fell into a slightly breathless silence, Alex lost in his racing thoughts, staring down at Rachel’s name with wide eyes. He could swear John inched closer to him, leaving only one foot between them – but maybe he was just imagining things.  
  
What was he talking about, though? Why was he saying all this now, what was he going for? _  
  
_ He felt John’s eyes on the side of his face. Alex’ confused and distraught eyes shot up at him quickly, then back to the cross, his lips parting. “What are you trying to say?” he rasped, breaking the silence and clearing his throat. _  
  
_ John blinked, drawing in a breath, “I, uh…”   
  
He trailed off again, lifting his hands and dropping them where they were still buried in his jacket’s pockets. _  
  
_ “I’m not good with words… like she was. Like _you_ are. I, I stumble over them and I’m awkward, and a mouthful and… all I know is that I promised her to take care of you, that day at the beach.” He swallowed hard. Alex watched his Adam’s apple bob, his eyes wide; he chuckled anxiously and insecurely when John huffed a bitter, slightly wet laugh, frowning around his next words.  
  
“And well, we both know how that worked out, but…” he left off again, and Alex wanted to grab his shoulders and scream at him, shout _what?! What are you trying to say, John Laurens? Fucking talk to me, say it!  
  
_ “What?” he managed, a little impatiently. John stayed quiet for another second before continuing. “I also promised myself that I would forget the things my father did. I would let go of that past and live in the present. With you.”  
  
When he went quiet again, Alex lifted his eyebrows, waiting for more. _There has to be more, come on. Say something.  
_  
“She believed in God, right?” John looked up at him again, his eyebrows raised. Alex frowned at the question but nodded. “She did.” He replied quietly. _  
  
_ “Then she believed in heaven, too?” _  
  
_ “She did. What are you trying to say?” Alex asked again, his voice slightly rasp again. _Come on-  
  
_ John took another deep breath, burying his face in his scarf and sighing when he reappeared.   
  
“I promised to let go. And since I already failed to take care of you… I want to at least keep that promise.” He met Alex’ gaze. “I don’t want her to look down at a world where the two of us aren’t okay.”  
  
Alex watched John as he avoided his face, his mouth slightly ajar. He gave a short, nervous chuckle. “… And you say I’m the wordy one.”  
  
John pulled a face, elbowing him. They’d somehow ended up even closer to each other. “Shut up.”  
  
“I’m serious! You’re a poet, John Laurens. You should be the one writing that novel of mine.” Alex grinned when he saw John blush. The other boy shied away, grumbling “You disgust me.” with an evident, goofy smile hidden in the fabric of his scarf as he swayed a little closer into Alex’ side.  
  
Alex eyed the side of his face. His high cheekbones, his ears that stuck out from his head a little. His freckles, scattered across his tan, rosy skin. “I’ll remind you of that when you start talking about peace of mind and letting me inside your heart again.” He couldn’t hold back.   
  
John looked up at him again, and they sort of just stared at each other for a second, eyeing each other’s faces and both enjoying and being put off by the fact that they both remembered that moment so clearly.   
  
John was the first to break away and take a modest step back, vaguely pointing at the white candle Alex was still holding. His voice shook slightly as he lifted it.  
  
“Are you, um… are you going to light that or what?” He cleared his throat, eyebrows drawn together.  
  
“Uh…” Alex took a step back, too, his heart screeching at the loss of warmth and contact as he patted his pockets, realizing that he’d left his lighter on his windowsill in Philadelphia. _Seems surreal that I was there just a handful of hours ago; it feels like it’s been ages._ “Do you have a lighter?”  
  
John reached around in his pocket and then pulled his hand out, handing Alex a zippo. Their fingers brushed and they both twitched and looked the other way, pretending to not have noticed.  
  
Alex felt his cheeks heat up; his usually so cold hand was warm and tingling where John’s fingertips had brushed it, and he lit the candle quickly with shaky fingers, then let out a noise to get John’s attention back; the other boy snapped his head back towards him and held his hand out for Alex to hastily push the lighter into it and turn around.  
  
Alex dropped to his knees in front of the grave, searching and finding a spot and placing the flickering candle on a large, flat stone next to a small collection of marguerites, dried poppy and baby’s breath and then sat back on his heels, cowering on the cold ground, hunched into himself, cool chin in his hands and staring into the warm light of the candle illuminating Rachel’s grave. _Doesn’t glow nearly as bright as her. But it’ll do for now. Just_ a _little light_.  
  
Suddenly, John raised his voice again, very serious and quiet.   
  
“I meant those things.”  
  
Alex didn’t look up and thought that the color of the candle’s light reminded him of the setting sun on the first day of Adams’ treatment. “I know.” He replied, and then, John let out a pained sigh, long and soft.  
  
“I’m sorry, Alex.” He murmured. Alex felt himself frown slowly, genuinely confused.  
  
“For what?” he asked weakly, eyes wide and still not quite willing to turn around.  
  
“For being too much when you needed space and then not being there when you needed me the most… and I’m sorry for not answering that call.”  
  
There was another silence, and Alex dug around inside his chest searching for the frustration, the confusion he’d felt that night when John hadn’t answered his phone. He couldn’t find it, and his frown deepened. “… It’s alright, to be honest. In hindsight.” He tilted his head ever so slightly so he could see John from the corner of his eye. He was fidgeting with the lighter nervously.  
  
“I can’t expect you to just be available anytime I need you to be, John. Plus-“ He finally stood and quickly snatched the lighter out of his hands, pushing it into his jacket pocket and trying to ignore how John tensed beneath his touch.   
  
“-I’m here now, aren’t I?”  
  
John looked up at him; there was a softness in his eyes, and he nodded after a while.  
  
“You’re here now.” He murmured, and then, with a sad grin: “Took you long enough.”  
  
Alex cast his eyes downward, begging his heart to stop pounding as he weighed his next words on his tongue. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” He said quietly, and John drew his eyebrows together, hiding the lower half of his face in his scarf again.  
  
“I hope you are.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“I know.” John sighed softly, indistinguishably leaning a little more into Alex, causing his breath to hitch and his heart to sing. “Me, too.”   
  
They were quiet for a moment, until-   
  
“I wish I could undo what I did. Like, I literally regret half my life. I wish I could _relive_ it.” Alex looked down at the grave, watching the candle.   
  
“I wish I could somehow go back and make my father stay, I wish I learned to take my time when I was a kid. I wish I talked to Jemmy more when I could. I wish I’d stopped Adams, or found a way to earn more money so I could pay for a better treatment. I wish I talked to you about how I was feeling after… you know.” He lifted his eyebrows and wiped at his eyes with an embarrassed laugh, then recomposed himself, straightening his shoulders.   
  
“I wish I could undo what I did; leaving…”  
  
In the silence that followed, he glanced at John, but the other boy wasn’t looking at him, but at the bouquet next to Alex’ candle. Alex wondered for a second if he was the one who’d placed it there; he could vaguely recall John talking about his mother once, that he’d leave only wildflowers at her grave if he knew where it was because he didn’t know what proper flowers she liked and there wasn’t much you could do wrong with wildflowers.  
  
“… but I can’t.” he finished his sentence softly, looking back down.  
  
“But you can’t,” John muttered, nodding and pressing his lips together. They went quiet again. The candle flickered in a breeze moving through the garden as they were standing side by side.  
  
“There’s something you can do, though.” John’s voice was so quiet; so vulnerable. Alex didn’t dare to make a sound. It seemed like the entire city was holding its breath, and every living thing in it was waiting for John to continue speaking.  
  
“You know, all you have to do is ask.”  
  
An eternity passed; the world spun silently around them as they stood in front of Rachel’s grave, shoulders not even touching, and the candle was bright and warm, and as they were watching it burn, Alex lifted his voice, exhausted and so, so, _so_ quiet.  
  
“Can I come home?” he asked, barely audible.   
  
As a response, John took his hand.  
  
  
THEY WERE STILL HOLDING HANDS WHEN JOHN UNLOCKED THE FRONT DOOR TO THE QUIET, DARK APARTMENT, simply because neither of them had it in them to let go. They didn't talk on the way back, were both too exhausted, only when they reached the building and Alex tensed, refused to go inside and asked John if the others would even be okay with him being there, being back in general and John tentatively tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and first told him that even if they did mind him being back, it was none of their business, and then, when he didn't seem convinced, assured him that Herc, Laf and Peggy all weren’t home but watching a movie in a drive-in-cinema, and Alex, if a little reluctantly, let himself be pulled upstairs.   
  
John spent the entire way up feverishly trying to think of where Alex would sleep; not in John’s bed, that was for sure, not yet, and finally decided to sleep in the living room and let Alex take the bed, considering he probably hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for two entire months. Not that John had, but he didn’t particularly mind right now, he just wanted Alex to feel at home and for him to not be gone in the morning.  
  
So they made their way upstairs, tightly holding on to each hands. The second they were inside the apartment, its warmth and its familiar smell of Peggy’s flowery perfume and coffee surrounding them and John turned on the lights in the hallway, something within Alex seemed to collapse into itself, some façade he’d desperately tried to keep up came down and suddenly, he was even quieter than earlier. He didn’t say a word except hushed ‘forget it, it’s alright’s while John aided to his nose, cleaning the remains of the blood off in the kitchen and apologizing a million times, and he just shook his head when John asked if he was hungry.   
  
When John asked if he wanted to shower, though, he nodded softly after a while; he left his backpack in the hallway and disappeared into the bathroom and John waited in the kitchen, after a while deciding to make Alex a cheese sandwich, regardless what he said; by the time it was done, Alex came into the kitchen, his short hair damp and curling and he was wearing the same clothes as before, which caused John to make a noise of disapproval and send him back to his room to change into some of his clothes. Alex gratefully hustled down the hall and returned wearing baggy sweatpants and-   
  
John almost choked on a sob when he saw him walking into the kitchen with hunched shoulders in his green hoodie, slumping into himself against the counter and smiling a watery smile at him.   
  
Alex also didn't say anything about the fact that John had made him sandwiches after all; he ate quietly and like he hadn’t eaten properly in months, smiling at John every now and then, and when John offered to slice an apple for him, he nodded softly, happily, and John stood from where he sat next to Alex on the kitchen counter and retrieved an apple from the ridiculous fruit basket Lafayette had brought back from France. He washed it, and also made some of the Jasmine tea he'd meant to make the night Alex had left.   
  
They didn't say a word because they'd said all that needed to be said for now.   
  
They had their tea in silence, the softly lit kitchen quiet and warm and homely – Peggy had bought small lights to screw to the bottom of the pantries when she’s moved in – and when Alex tentatively slid off the counter, washing his cup off in the sink – John noticed with a pained but happy smile that he still knew where the kitchen towels were, and then asked if he wanted to go to sleep. Alex nodded again, and John smiled at him a little shyly. They went to brush their teeth and then, John took Alex to his room, pushing him down on the bed gently and tucking him into his green and white-dressed bed; Alex asked if he didn’t want to sleep in the bed in a small voice, but John just told him to take this, and Alex did. He offered no further resistance, either because he didn’t want to, or because he simply couldn’t; both seemed plausible.  
  
He left to Alex whispering a teary, very soft “Thank you.” somewhere behind him; he stopped at the door briefly, then glanced at Alex in his bed over his shoulder, his heart actually melting at how he’d rolled into himself like a fetus, hugging the duvet tightly. John rested his shoulder against the doorframe, eyeing him briefly, unable to suppress a small smile.  
  
_He still sleeps in just the same way. I guess some things just never change._   
  
“It’s nothing.” He hummed back, and then closed the door behind himself, padding off to the living room and getting the lights before lying down and pulling a blanket from the big pile next to the couch. He tucked himself in in the fairy light lit room and buried himself in the warmth of the cushions and pillows.   
  
If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he’d probably be contemplating the events of the day right now, tossing around on the couch until he drifted off into a light, unsatisfying sleep, but he knew Alex was just down the hall, and it left him feeling so strangely warm and content and smiling so widely, and soon, he was drifting off, the thought on his mind that maybe, just maybe, good things did happen occasionally – sometimes, they happened when you least expected them to.   
  
He fell asleep smiling into the pillow, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid of the morning light to come.  
  
  
THE NEXT MORNING, John he was awoken by Lafayette screaming at the top of his lungs on the other end of the apartment, and John’s eyes flung open, the realization only slowly coming to his sleepy mind that he must have found Alex sleeping in his bed. After John had made sure that Alex hadn’t died of a heart attack and gone back to sleep, apparently still too exhausted to face the day, John spent his breakfast trying to keep Laf from hyperventilating about the fact that the two of them had made up while John ate his cereal peacefully, smirking at him and saying that he couldn’t believe it either. Laf was muttering in French incoherently, staring at his omlet absently during the entire breakfast, and John was honestly surprised that Peggy and Herc were taking the news a lot better than him, telling him they were just happy that John wouldn’t be spending the majority of his days inside, hiding in his bed with a box of tissues and shouting at everyone that he couldn’t draw, anymore.  
  
The others left for work and John got comfortable with a cup of tea and a book in the living room; Eliza had texted him earlier saying that she was too hungover from the wine she’d had at dinner with her parents and Maria yesterday that she didn’t really feel up to working, and so John had a day off, too. He spent the morning inside, drinking tea, reading and cleaning the kitchen; around noon, without bothering to change out of his sweatpants, he paid his friends a visit in the coffee shop, where he was, without ordering, handed a cup of pumpkin spice latte by Peggy and then sat down at a corner table and bombarded with questions about what had happened with Alex by Maria, Angelica and Madison as soon as he was through the door. He answered all of them the best he could and hurried to leave again, making his way back to the apartment slowly, nuzzling into his scarf to shield himself from the cold and fog still hanging lazily in the streets.   
  
How could he tell his friends what had happened if he couldn’t even quite understand it himself? It was honestly a mystery to him how he and Alex had found a peaceful end to their conversation yesterday. He thought of how angry he’d suddenly been, and how heartbroken Alex had seemed the entire time and remembered all the tears, and how guilty he’d felt when he’d punched Alex – _my God, I punched him_ – as he made his way back to a warm apartment where Alex was probably still sleeping, safe and sound in his clothes and in his bed, drooling into his pillow, his soft hair, short at the sides, longer on top, _Dan Howell hair_ , curling and messy, back in his life-  
  
John grinned into his scarf giddily.   
  
It was just _unbelievable_ , to be honest. Unimaginable, that after all this time, Alex still loved John.   
  
_After everything._  
  
John walked, and he grinned, and he knew that at home, Alex was waiting as he made his way through the light gray, easily breathable autumn afternoon, and he felt so weirdly at peace.   
  
When he came home, he padded to his room and opened the door quietly; Alex was, in fact still sleeping, and John craned his neck from where he didn’t dare to leave the door and allowed himself to watch him for a second. Alex was breathing softly and slowly; there was a small spot of blood from his nose on the pillow next to his head, and his pink lips were slightly parted, his dark lashes resting on top of his cheeks, his eyelids twitching every now and then. His left hand moved, dragging the duvet closer to his chest with large, sleepy effort.  
  
He wasn’t curled into himself like he’d been yesterday evening but on his back, limbs stretched out – a foot wearing a too large, dark green wool stock stuck out beneath the duvet and John was itching to sit down at the bottom end of the mattress and start to tickle that spot right behind his toes that he knew Alex was so terribly sensitive on but managed to banish the thought to the back of his head, _come on, Laurens, let him have his rest_. Alex made a sleepy noise in his throat and his head rolled to its side, exposing the light purple bruising the shape of John’s knuckles; he winced slightly when he noticed it and turned away, closing the door gently behind himself and making his way to the living room, where he peeled out of his jacket and dropped himself on the couch, pulling the book he’d left on the couch table earlier back into his lap and picking up where he’d left off.   
  
He didn’t get far, though, and lifted his head after a couple of minutes when he heard a door open carefully, and then, someone padding down the hall, socks making soft noises on the wood.  
  
John stood from the couch quickly, running his hands through his hair and putting it up into a bun just before Alex appeared in the door, sleepy eyes finding John, and he smiled a little shyly.   
  
“Hey.” He said, voice scruffy with sleep, and cleared his throat.   
  
John eyed him, his eyes sticking to the bruise for second before he smiled back. “Hey. You’re up.” Alex nodded slowly, looking at his feet and burying his hands in the pockets of the green hoodie he was still wearing.   
  
There was a brief, slightly tense silence. John straightened his bun. “Uh, did you eat yet?” Alex asked, pushing his hair away from his forehead and meeting John’s gaze.   
  
“I could make some pasta or something,” John replied with a shrug. Alex smirked. “More like I can make pasta while you watch so we don’t set the kitchen on fire because you can’t even make tea using an electric kettle without burning your fingers?” he teased, and John felt himself blush slightly. He scratched at the back of his neck.   
  
“Asshole” John grumbled, then “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” He grabbed his book from the couch and pushed past Alex into the kitchen. The other boy followed him.   
  
The next hour was spent cooking, John sitting on the countertop and reading to Alex from his book. They exchanged shy smiles every now and then; Alex burned his fingers on the electric kettle, and they ate in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch in content silence – and every time Alex reached for his jasmine tea on the couch table, his feet brushed up against John’s, and John would shudder slightly. The sky outside went from grey to blue to black as he started reading to Alex again, and their friends came home, all falling silent for a split second when they saw the two of them together on the couch, but then starting to complain about the fact that they’d already eaten and that they could have waited up. They made another pot of pasta and warmed up the leftover sauce and then joined Alex and John in the living room, Herc and Peggy cuddling up on the carpet in front of the couch while Laf put on _Rapunzel_.   
  
John fell asleep halfway into the first song.   
  
Sunday was spent similarly; it was raining outside, so Herc didn’t join Peggy and Laf in the coffee shop but stayed back at the apartment with them; he and Alex played Mario Kart, Alex constantly losing but requesting yet another round every time he did while John sat next to them, relieved and happy at how quickly Herc and Alex had gone back to being friends; it put him at ease to listen to the two of them bantering and shouting at each other, and at some point, he must have drifted off, because when he came to, it was dark outside and Herc was gone. Someone – Alex? – had draped a blanket over him and Alex was cross-legged on the floor wearing John’s MCR hoodie, glasses on and hair hanging into his eyes as he was typing away on his laptop, a small smile on his face. John watched him for a while, then closed his eyes again, falling asleep to the sound of his keyboard.  
  
On Monday, he went back to work with Herc after peeking into Alex’ room and seeing him still asleep. The day was cool but a little less wet than yesterday. Eliza smiled a lot, touching her engagement ring all the time and talking about how genuinely happy her parents had looked when she and Maria had announced their news. John’s fingers never turned into butter, and his voice never shook; he made small talk with customers, used way too many sunflowers in his bouquets and didn’t drop a single vase. When he went to the coffee shop in his lunch break, he was surprised to see Alex – hair combed, in hoodie and sweatpants in one of the bar stools by the counter, his notebook out in front of him as he was talking to Peggy. John sat down next to him, greeting them and not able to hold back a smile when Alex grinned at him, announcing that Peggy was telling him about Columbia, and the Peggy started rambling excitedly about absolutely amazing fellow singing-students, the focused atmosphere in the library and how generally inspiring and wonderfully educationally-feeling going to Uni was, and Alex grinned at her, and rested his knee against John’s beneath the table.  
  
In the afternoon, John went to his art history and live drawing class; he and Javi didn’t talk a lot, but it didn’t seem like he was particularly angry at John, and they occasionally complained about Mr. Jay’s long ass monologues in art history together via What’s App, and around half to seven, John took the subway back to Brooklyn. At home, the others were already assembled around a Monopoly board with Indian Takeout food, and Alex was on a winning spree; John sat down between him and Peggy after changing and getting himself a water bottle from the kitchen. Someone assigned the boot to him. John didn’t mind; he was too exhausted to mind. Alex kept his hands close to his all the time while they played, and when Laf and Peggy were arguing about some supposedly too high rent on one of Peggy’s hotels, he tapped his index finger against the back of John’s hand. John looked up at him, watching him smile at him faintly.   
  
“I missed you.” Alex muttered, and John felt his heart pacing up as he inevitably beamed back at Alex, leaning a little closer at the same time as he did. By the time Peggy and Laf had broken up their fight, round, their shoulders were touching.  
  
  
THE DAYS PASSED and were all pretty much the same; John went to work, John went to Uni, John talked and laughed and stayed close to Alex and Alex watched in breathless disbelief as things kept falling into place. He’s picked his manuscript back up, started editing the first draft – it was going agonizingly slowly, but it was going; he went to visit Rachel almost every day.   
  
There was a bench in the churchyard, close to her grave, and sometimes, he’d take a notepad and pencil with him and sit down on the damp wood, listen to cars pass muffled out on the street, watch leaves fall on headstones, damp grass and gravel paths and rotting sunflowers and write a little, prose mostly, beginnings of things he’d always wanted to write, and tiny, cheesy and really bad poems or just small ideas, or things John had said to him that morning. Small things that he hoped would grow over time.   
  
His sense for words was coming back with every passing day he spent in the autumn-speckled New York with his friends. And he let it. And he cried with relief when he managed to finish a second draft of Barlough’s first letter to Jones.   
  
He didn’t even really notice it, but he slowly started to be able to sleep again. With the knowledge that John, and Peggy, Herc, and Laf were only a few feet away, he slept through almost every night; the bruise on his jaw was turning yellow together with the leaves on the trees, and Alex relished getting to see John’s sleepy face and bedhead every morning at breakfast, he lived in how he could see John slowly starting to let his guard down around him as he realized Alex was staying for good; he was waiting patiently as things returned, their habits, their banter, desire, catching himself and John smiling on a regular daily basis.   
  
Things were, if slowly, coming back on track; returning to how they’d been before it all. Before he’d left, before Rachel’s death, before Washington had left, before the beach, but sort of also entirely different in a way he couldn’t quite grasp with words. It was like they’d grown somehow, like they’d gotten a kind of quiet understanding they hadn’t had before it all.   
  
Maybe it came from knowing the John had gone through the same pains he had; maybe it came from their mutual dependence on one another, Alex didn’t care. All he cared about was what they had right now. He knew how fragile it was, he knew how easily it could shatter again, because he knew that things were fragile; especially good things, he’d learned that, like pictures of people walking by the sea, sunsets, fresh flowers.   
  
You just had to learn how to not break them. Or not to break them in general.  
  
Alex knew he wouldn’t get to relive his life. But he slowly got the feeling he was being given a chance to build something that lasted with John, and he’d never been more grateful for anything in his life.  
  
So on a Tuesday night, one week after he’d come back, when he and John were in John’s – their room, him writing and John drawing, like they used to, like they _did_ , and John said good night, Alex followed him with his eyes as he made for the door, then said his name.   
  
“John.”  
  
John turned around, his eyebrows raised as he smiled sleepily. “What?”   
  
Alex looked down at his closed notebook, collecting words on his tongue, and then-  
  
“I was just thinking that I don’t want you to go.” He said quietly. And John blinked. Blushed, swallowed hard, staring at him in a slightly paralyzed way. And then, he strode back towards the mattress, and tossed his sketch pad and pencil case to the floor, his flushed face weirdly determined, and flung himself down into Alex’ arms.  
  
He tackled him, pressing all the air out of Alex’ lungs as they collapsed on top of each other, and Alex’ heart was racing while John hugged him closely, strong arms curling around his back and pressing him close. Alex’ blood was roaring in his ears. He could feel John’s heartbeat against his chest, wild, heavy, his breath hitching, an embarrassing “Haa…” escaping him as John buried his face in his neck, kissing his skin there once, softly. Alex’ arms wound around John on their own account. Holding him in place. His entire neck was tingling, covered in goose bumps, chill after chill after chill chasing down his spine as John’s breath came loud and harsh into his ear.  
  
Everything was warm, and everything smelled like John, John, John, and Alex couldn’t breathe, his mind swimming, incoherent except for how much he craved John’s touch, how badly he yearned to be held by him.   
  
“John, I-” He whispered into the other boy’s curls, but whatever he wanted to say – he didn’t really know himself –  was cut off by John, and Alex’ breath got stuck in his throat, his heart jumping pathetically as he panted out a laugh when John said, firmly, into his neck:  
  
“I love you, Alex,”  
  
And then, a thought occurred to him.   
  
Alex opened his eyes, unable to recall when he’d closed them, and glanced at the side of John’s head. There was hair in his mouth, and John’s chest was heaving against his. He smelled a little bit like sweat.   
  
_I want to kiss him.  
  
I want to kiss him so, so, so badly, taste him again and feel him again and drown in him, I want him to touch me, touch me everywhere and now, please, God, John-_  
  
And then, the other boy was rolling off him and pulling him up to his chest, and stretching his long arms to first turn off the lights and then pull the blanket over them. He kissed Alex’ neck again.  
  
“I don’t think I ever really stopped.” John breathed into the dark. Alex felt how his lips parted; to say something, maybe- but nothing came. He just smiled. He smiled widely and happily and genuinely, and pressed himself closer to John. _This is enough. For now, this is enough._   
  
Everything was where it was supposed to be, everything was _right_ _where it was supposed to be_ , and John, probably even without conscious thought, ran his hand up Alex’ arm and through his hair, causing the other boy’s eyelids to flutter and the corners of his mouth to twitch.   
  
Alex was so happy. John smiled against the side of his neck.  
  
“I missed you, too, by the way, and I know- you told me you were in Philly, and that you went to Uni there, and that it was shit, and that you met a girl called Kitten-”  
  
“- Kitty, John, Kitty Livingston-“   
  
“- _Shush_ , Hamilton. And that you had a scholarship but that you quit your pre-law degree two weeks into the semester with a very brief email sent via public transport wifi on the train, and all that, I can understand but-“ he left off with a soft scoff, tugging at Alex’ hair playfully.   
  
“That. Why the fuck did you do that.” He muttered into Alex’ ear. Alex shivered. “It was August, I do that basically every year when it gets too warm.” He replied sheepishly, turning in John’s arms slightly. _John’s arms. John is sleeping next to me again. Is that his foot against my knee? God, I can’t even.  
_  
“Do you not like it?” he asked a little insecurely, and John looked at him with a soft grin, then kissed the back of his neck again, pressing his nose into Alex’ hair.  
  
“I can’t play with it very well. But it’s okay. I like it, actually, I like it a lot. It can stay.” He murmured, his words slurring together a little as he was already starting to drift off.   
  
Alex grinned; content and sleepy. “Well-” he said, hugging John’s arms with his hands, still smiling as he hid himself a little further in John’s chest and the duvet.   
  
“If you like it a lot, Laurens, then." He let out a small, happy sigh.   
  
"That’s a start.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Yeah.
> 
> You made it. They're back together and happy and I'm not crying you're crying (you probably are sosaying this doesn't really have the effect it's meant to have huh)
> 
> Anyway. Next chapter will be up in either two/three weeks (SOZ please last that long friends??) weeks; hopefully two, but no actually three, sorry. School starts in half a week for me, and I don't know how busy I'll be, but I'll try to make it as worth the wait as possible, so it might take a while. Especially because I really need to sleep. Don't try what I'm doing at home kids it's really no fun.
> 
> Also, the next chapter will be the last one (TnT)  
> So. I'll see you in two/three weeks, friends. #OneLastTime


	18. Sunrise - Reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything ends with a sunrise and a bouquet of sunflowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna. Go cry. This was so hard to write, and I know It's a week early, I know I know I have three exams next week and my sister's birthday and asdhgkhg life is bUSY YIKES  
> But yeah. I won't even go into detail of how sad I am about this fic ending because then I'll just cry and honestly I'm so tired of crying about this fic. Also I'll go (very much) into detail at the end.  
> I have One Last Time stuck in my head and can't get it out eww this is making me tear up
> 
> There's some mild and referenced, not particulraly explicit sexual content in here, just a heads up. As always, it's marked with a lil (*).  
> There's also another quote from Banana Yoshimoto's kitchen in here, also marked with a *, but you know when it comes up. (Seriously, read that damn book. It's so good and soft)
> 
> Yeah so, I hope you enjoy reading that happy ending I promised all along that we all deserve. I'll leave you to it, friends!

  
**  
** By the time GEORGE WASHINGTON left the hospital, yawning loudly as he made his way through the parking lot to his car, the sun was rising.  
  
It dragged its long, thin, warming fingers through the deep street canyons of the still sleeping downtown of DC as he drove outside; orange and small and far away where it was ascending behind the skyscrapers laboriously, a golden circle in the sky. George turned into Michigan Avenue, heading for Georgia Avenue.  
  
It seemed like the sun was tied to the back of his car; like he was dragging it up the pale blue sky, the thought caused him to smile tiredly; the shift in the muscles of his face caused him to yawn again. He really should stop pulling these all-nighters.  
  
The rising sun followed him in the rearview mirror, bright and stinging, causing him to squint most of the time as he drove slowly, not bothering to get close the tempo limit. His was about the only car on the freeway anyway at this early time; it couldn't even be 5 am.  
  
He yawned again, working hard to keep his eyes open and glanced at his watch where his wrist was draped over the steering wheel. _5:26 am. Well, maybe people just don't want to get up this early on Monday. I know I wouldn't.  
  
_ George drove, and the sun rose, and the city was quiet, and George tried hard not to focus on anything but his hands on the steering wheel; the hum of his car beneath him. Not on the fact that-  
  
_Don't go there. Just don't, George_.  
  
His eyelids were so heavy. He wanted to close them. He was so tired, he was so, so tired. But no, _no George, you're driving. Drive.  
  
_ He gripped the steering wheel tighter and focused on the road ahead; how it unfolded in front of him, long and wide and gray, houses at his sides, the sun at his back.  
  
George drove a little faster. To be honest, he couldn’t wait to be home.  
  
When he reached Northwest 11th street, he left the car in a way too narrow space in the underground parking lot of their apartment building and dragged himself to the elevator and to their apartment. It took him a while to unlock the front door.  
  
Even with Aaron’s and Theodosia’s help, they hadn’t been able to find anything more than a two room loft this close to downtown; the deposit hadn’t ruined them, not even close, but both George and Martha had shed a small tear signing the contract. It had large windows and quiet surroundings, though, and George, knowing they’d made a good choice, dropped his bag in the hallway as softly as possible.  
  
Their bed was in the room looking out to the east, and it was separated from the rest of the room and the archway into the living room, but he could see Martha shift anyway as he tiptoed into the room; saw the blanket sliding off her short legs as he worked out of his suit pants and dress shirt, discarding them lazily on the cool, dark wooden floor on his trotting way to the bed. By the time he reached it, she had sat up and was squinting into the orange light of the sun rising through the window. Her hair was put up in a messy attempt of a bun, thousands of frizzy, wild curls having slipped out of it in her sleep. She frowned and yawned, only now noticing him and turning to face him as he crawled into the bed, burying himself beneath his blanket. She looked down at him.  
  
“Were you at work until now?” she asked quietly, voice scruffy with sleep. He closed his eyes with a guilty sigh; a hand came up and poked the side of his face, demanding attention. Martha’s fingernail dug into his cheek softly, and his eyes fluttered open again. He flicked his eyes up at where she was scowling at him, obviously worried, and a little upset. _You should just tell her the truth. It’s not like you did anything wrong. Well, not yet, anyway.  
  
_ He was quiet, looking up at her for a moment, then- “Yes. I’m sorry, honey. It’s just… this sixteen-year-old girl, she has a tumor on her spine and I just…” His jaw dropped slightly. Martha ran her hand up the side of his face gingerly, touching his short hair. When he managed to breathe properly again, he continued, eyebrows drawn together.  
_  
_ “I can’t figure it out.” He huffed a small laugh of disbelief. “I _can’t figure out_ how to remove it without literally cutting into her spinal chord and I can’t… I can’t watch her go the same way they all do.” He pressed his lips together and shook her head, seeing a thousand faces flash in front of his eyes; an old lady with a wide smile, a five-year-old boy with gaps between his teeth, his sister, _Rachel_ -  
_  
_ Aaron had called him, the day after it had happened. George hadn’t been able to come to her funeral. He had thought of Alex; he had thought of her, he thought of how he’d let them down and had spent a whole night crying while Martha held him, rocking their bodies. He shuddered at the memory, and when he continued, he was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about the sixteen-year-old girl anymore. “I can’t- I won’t let her down, I can’t let her die again, but she’s going to, and I just can’t figure out how to stop it. I’m so sorry.  
_  
_ Martha’s hand was still stroking his cheek, his jaw, his neck, but he’d stopped looking at her a while ago. Now he was just staring at her wrist and the crisp white sheets. She shushed him, and his voice shook when he repeated himself. “I’m sorry…”  
_  
_ She said his name tiredly, and he curled into himself, shaking. He felt so cold, and he was letting them all down, all of them. “I’m sorry- Rachel, she…”  
  
“Shh, Baby, it’s okay. It’s all okay.” She shook his shoulder softly, trying to get his attention. He forced himself to look up and meet her insistent gaze. Her eyebrows were lifted in the soft morning light, and she squeezed his upper arm gently. “Go to sleep, we’ll figure it out together tomorrow.“  
  
He started shaking his head and opened his mouth to speak. “I just… Martha, I-“ She cut him off. “I know, you’re sorry. Don’t be. Rachel… what happened to her wasn’t your fault.”  
  
“But I…” He leaned away from her touch and sat up a little, twisting the sheets with both his hands. Martha pushed at his shoulder carefully, trying to take his hands. “Hey. George, stop.”  
  
George obliged; gripping the sheets loosely and staring at them, his lips parted as he breathed slowly, a far-overdue realization kicking in. “I let her die.  
  
He could see Martha blink and lean away a little, her familiar features scrunched up in an incredibly confused expression from the corner of his eye. She laughed incredulously, then placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning slightly towards him. “Are you talking about Rachel? George, please.”  
  
He shook his head more insistently. “No, Martha, you have to understand, I left her to die and now Alex doesn’t even have her anymore. His father already left, and then I did, and now he doesn’t even have his mother anymore because of me.” He laughed pathetically, frantically. Martha waited it out until he collapsed further into himself, then she tok his hand, running her thumb over the back of it. “Hey, George. Baby, hey. Look at me.” Her other hand came up to cup his jaw, and he reluctantly flicked his eyes up at her. She ran her thumb over his cheek, catching the dampness of a few tears and making a noise of disapproval. “It wasn’t your fault.” She said slowly, stressing every word, her eyebrows drawn together, and then she tipped his face towards her and kissed him carefully; he let her. She tasted like sleep, and like her, and he felt himself relax beneath her familiar, warm touch, leaning into her. They kissed for a while, softly and tentatively, Martha swallowing every soft noise he made; sobs or gasps, neither of them could really tell anymore.  
  
When she pulled away, she didn’t really pull away; they were touching everywhere. Her softly bulging baby-tummy brushing against his stomach, arms curled around each other, her hair over his eyes and in his mouth. He breathed her in; she smelled like lemongrass and sleep, and he knew why he loved her so much.  
  
Because she was home.  
  
He knew it was a selfish reason, but she was so safe, with her, everything was safe. She was better at most things than he was; she was kind, but still honest and strict, and, when he felt unsafe, she could protect him. She was a force of nature. His Martha.  
  
He caught himself smiling into her neck, and reminded himself for a second that he should be sad. _You’ve done enough damage, George, stop smiling, you don’t deserve being happy right now. Rachel. And the sixteen-year-old girl, Beth, who you’re going to have to watch die just the same way Rachel did.  
_  
He broke their hug, then their silence. “But Martha…” he attempted, but she placed her fingers over his mouth, leaning up to kiss his forehead once more. “Not your fault.” She said firmly against his skin, and he didn’t say anything, because he was at a loss of words. He was too tired to resist when Martha pushed him back into the pillows, leaning over him for a second. “Go to sleep, Honey.” She said softly, tracing a small, absent pattern on his chest. “I swear, it’ll all be better when you wake up. You really shouldn’t stay up this late. Reckless moron.” She shook her head with a disapproving expression. He blinked.  
  
“I really am sorry.“  
  
“Don’t apologize.” She said with a frown, and then kissed him again. Her hair brushed against his forehead. He inhaled deeply into the kiss, unconsciously chasing after Martha’s mouth when she pulled away. She chuckled quietly, pushing his head away. He found himself grinning again. He turned his head, watching as she lay back down next to him, her black top and dark skin standing out sharply against the white sheets as she kicked them off her legs all the way, pulling them only over her torso and hugging them close. He smiled at her back.  
  
“I love you.” He said softly.  
  
There wasn’t a beat of silence before she lightly replied “I know.”, her voice obviously carrying a soft, powerful smile.  
  
He shuffled closer to her, putting an arm around her middle and kissing her neck. “Hey.” She didn’t turn around; he asked himself briefly if she was already asleep, but then he was saying “Best of wives, best of women.”, and he swore, this time, he could see her smile.  
_  
_ George let his eyes slip shut and pressed another kiss to the delicate skin of her neck, causing her to nuzzle her back against his chest.  
  
He exhaled deeply.  
  
Martha was small and warm in his arms, the skin of her pulled in legs dark orange in the light of the morning, sticking out from beneath the duvet.  
  
After all these years, George was still amazed how a woman so strong and beautiful had chosen him and kept choosing him, despite all the times he’d forgotten to unpack groceries or worked into the early morning hours.  
  
He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her. He’d never known.  
  
He was awkward and a failure, his eyebrows were kind of weird, he was never quite enough, came with a package of rich-kid-childhood-trauma and insecurities about whether or not people liked him. But for some reason, Martha, a brilliant and gentle and wide-minded woman, had chosen him. He would never understand her.  
  
Though, in fact, wasn’t that what love was all about?  
  
The other person seeing just the right beauty in you at just the right time, when you were struck with the inability to see it yourself?  
  
George decided he didn’t need to know why Martha was still sticking with him. He decided he was just incredibly lucky she did.  
  
Beneath his arm laying loosely on her round stomach, he could feel something kicking slightly; Martha moved closer into his arms, making a small noise of pain in her light sleep. When George moved away to look at her apprehensively, about to ask if everything was alright, she frowned, letting out a discontented groan as she pulled him back in.  
  
“’M fine, relax. He’s just been kicking a lot tonight.” She muttered sleepily. He felt himself grinning as he sunk back into the mattress. “He?”  
  
“I think so.” She said after a beat, turning slightly to look at the ceiling and then at him. “How do you like ‘Paul’? Or maybe ‘Alexander’?” He pulled a face, humming “Too soon. But Paul’s nice.” into her hair. They were quiet for a moment, then she muttered something along the lines of “Paul’s nice. Okay. We should sleep, or he’ll keep kicking.”  
  
George nodded in response, pulling her close.  
  
The sun was rising above DC, and George Washington fell asleep carrying a soft smile on his lips and with Martha, the woman that would forever own his heart next to him beneath their sheets that were filled with both their warmth and her round stomach, promising a future George couldn’t even begin to imagine.  
  
**  
** (* sort of but not very) THOMAS JEFFERSON woke up at the crack of dawn on a dusky Monday morning in an unfamiliar bed, his hair a mess and his mouth tasting like sleep, salt, and last night’s alcohol, and was disoriented for a second.  
  
He was lying on his side, facing a large window looking out over a shady but clearly already awakening lower Manhattan street – their street. Shit, what had he done? Where was he, what had happened? – a light rose-blueish sky hanging far above. Thomas drew in a soft breath, trying to calm himself, and tensed when he heard someone shift beside him; someone who was breathing slowly in a strangely familiar pattern, and Thomas leaned away, shuddering with something caught between panic and pleasure slightly when he felt hot breath against his bare neck and upper back. _Shit_.  
  
He gripped the sheets hanging loosely around his torso and hips tighter, staring at the window, then glancing down at the sheets he was wrapped in. They weren’t white like they were supposed to be, like they were in his own bed, but grey and heavy, and when Thomas lifted them carefully and was met with the sight of his own, completely naked body, it started dawning on him what had happened last night and why he wasn’t sleeping in his own bed.  
  
It wasn’t exactly uncommon for him to wake up in someone else’s bed; he tended to go home with someone every other weekend, and there had been a time in his first year of college where he’d woken up in different bed’s every morning, some girl curled up naked at his side, and he’d sneaked out into the early morning, leaving the girls to wake up disoriented until they realized he was gone already. It wasn’t an aspect of his life he was particularly proud of, but sometimes, he just needed it. Sometimes, he just craved the thrill of being loved by someone new every night; he was addicted to the hot rushes of a sort of _forbidden_ desire it gave him, the kind of uncertainty that came with it, it helped him relax, it helped him to get away from the tough reality of college and the fact that he was most likely breaking his best friend’s heart with everything he did, and he had never really learned to go without it.  
**  
** But this time, it was different. Because the street outside was the one he always stepped out onto in the morning on his way to Uni, and the stranger’s breathing pattern wasn’t unknown enough, and too deep to be a girl’s. The sheets smelled familiarly like books and laundry and a fresh, subtle cologne, and Thomas knew who was sleeping next to him before he even had a look over his shoulder.  
  
It was James, curled up like a cat by his side, his face halfway hidden in the sheets, his legs, sticking out at the bottom end of the bed, bare just like his shoulders and the side of his torso, and that’s when Thomas remembered what had happened, and why he was sleeping naked next to his best friend.  
  
They’d both been working on their first assignments of the year yesterday evening when he had thrown his laptop shut and sat up with a groan, stretching his back. James had watched as he straightened his t-shirt, and then met his gaze.  
  
“Save your project for later, we’re going out, Jemmy. I can’t do this anymore. Get your jacket.” He’d said, and James hadn’t bothered offering any resistance, they’d gotten dressed, and then taken the subway to the East Village, where they’d found themselves a club, a loud, large one full of too loud, aggressive music, moving bodies grinding up against one another, the smell of sweat and alcohol everywhere. They’d done shots – or he’d done shots, bobbing his head in time to the music, closing his eyes and tipping his head back and exposing his throat, knowing James couldn’t take his eyes off him; he could feel him watch him with wide eyes. He was fiddling with an empty shot glass, and when Thomas had opened his eyes again, he’d caught James staring at him.  
  
It had been like this ever since they’d met each other for the first time in their shared dorm room in Princeton, where James had studied pre-law, and he had been too uncertain to decide whether he wanted to major in economics, political journalism or international communications (in the end, he’d decided on the latter two, a choice he regretted regularly but couldn’t change anymore now); he’d come into the tiny room with two suitcases, and spotted a black-dressed boy in expensive glasses, sitting on one of the beds with an aggressively creased, reading-worn book in his lap. Thomas had dropped his suitcases and arched his tense back, causing it to crack; the boy had looked up, and his eyes had visibly widened when he’d seen Thomas as he was scrabbling to his feet, dropping the book on his tidily spread duvet and taking off his glasses. “Are you… uh, you’re Thomas Jefferson?” he’d asked, having to clear his throat, and Thomas had flashed him a warm grin, accompanied by a small, only slightly awkward wave. “You must be James Madison. I think we’re going to be roommates. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  
  
They’d been fast friends, they went everywhere and did everything together, and all the while Thomas had sort of known James was crushing on him. And while he firmly considered himself straight, he liked James. He respected him and quietly admired him for his eloquence and maturity, and he reveled in the attention he got from him. He liked being looked at with adoration, loved being looked at with desire, and James was just so _helpless_ to him. Thomas knew he was hurting, but he couldn’t make it stop; he didn’t _want to make it stop_. And so he went out with all those girls, he slept with different people every night, and then came home to cuddle up by James’ side in the evening, ignoring the other’s perpetually tortured expression.  
  
And while he was thinking about their college days, watching James in the flashing lights of the club, suddenly, James had broken their gaze and taken his hand, causing Thomas to falter and shudder while James pulled him towards the dance floor.  
  
Thomas couldn’t quite recall how he ended up watching James move with hungry eyes. He just remembered the blur of the alcohol and the buzz of the music and how his head felt light and he was at ease, and then how he looped his arms around James neck, and they’d started dancing together; bodies rocking into one another, panting, sweating, both getting shamelessly aroused, hurried along by the music and other dancers around them.  
  
And then James had leaned in, his short curls brushing the side of Thomas’ face, and his damp lips brushed up against the lobe of Thomas’ ear, and he’d said just loud enough for the other man to hear: “I love you. I love you, Thomas.”  
  
And Thomas’ mouth had fallen open, out of breath and out of words, and he’d suddenly become very conscious of James body pressed up against his, unfamiliarly but pleasantly firm hands gripping his waist, the embarrassing, pulsing hardness between his legs. He hadn’t said anything back, he couldn’t, and then James had kissed him, and Thomas had been shocked at first by the adrenaline and endorphins exploding in his body, the warmth spreading in his groin and chest and head, but as soon as he adjusted, he realized how James’ tongue was hot and demanding in his mouth, and how his narrow hips fit against the other man’s seamlessly, and without another thought, he’d pulled James closer, melted against him and kissed him back because _oh god, oh my god, this feels too good, I can’t miss this, this feels too good. Sweet Jesus_.  
  
They’d kissed, wildly, James running his hands up from his neck and through Thomas’ hair and Thomas biting and nipping at James’ jaw as they gripped at each other without restraint until both of them were moaning. Then, they stumbled off the dancefloor and out of the club. They ran to catch the subway hand in hand, found themselves an empty wagon, and as soon as the doors closed, James pressed him up against them and started kissing him again, shaking, cool hands skimming over the heated skin of his back beneath his jacket and t-shirt. Thomas hadn’t been thinking as he arched towards James, grinding his hips in a slow circle against James’ thigh pressed between his own. He had ignored all the ‘I love you’s James had panted against his neck that he hadn’t returned.  
  
He hadn’t been thinking as he dragged James out of the subway at their stop, across the street and into the building. He hadn’t been thinking as he let James unbuckle his belt and shove his hand between his legs as soon as they were through the door to their apartment; hadn’t been thinking as he allowed James to kneel before him and take him into his mouth, hadn’t been thinking as he pushed his head down to keep him from moving away, bracing himself on the door and moaning James’ name loudly.  
  
He hadn’t been thinking when he pulled James back up, kissed him again deeply, and tasted himself on his tongue, thick and heady, salty and bitter – he shouldn’t have liked it so much, but he _had_.  
  
And they hadn’t stopped after that, no. They’d stumbled to James’ room, undressing each other with shaky, cool hands, never getting close enough – Thomas remembered wishing for one lightheaded second to eat the other man alive – and James had said a thousand more times that he loved Thomas while they moved together, James groaning and bracing himself on the headboard while Thomas gasped and whined beneath him.  
  
Thomas opened his eyes, unable to recall having closed them. He noticed that his skin had grown hot just at the memory, reached up, burying his deep, confused and slightly embarrassed groan in his hands before kicking the sheets off his hips and stumbling naked through the cool, dawn-lit apartment to his room. His head was already pounding. _Whatever I have to do today, it’s definitely going to make me want to die.  
_  
He barely managed to get dressed, absently throwing together jeans and a white dress shirt; he tied his hair up, unwilling to deal with it in his face any longer, and went to make himself a glass of green tea in the kitchen, knowing coffee would only intensify his hangover.  
  
The water started boiling slowly and Thomas stared at where he could see the bottom end of James’ bed through the living room, the other man’s bare legs shifting in his sleep. Thomas listened to the kettle whistling softly and covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide.  
  
_God, what have I done?_  
  
He swallowed hard, spilling water as he tried to fill his glass and then went to stand by the wide living room window, his tea in hand.  
  
The sun was starting to rise, and Thomas listened to James’ familiar breathing pattern and wanted to punch himself in the head.  
  
_How could I do this to him? All these years, all these years, and he loved me so much, all along. And now I slept with him just because it felt so good to have him above me, all around and inside me, his hand in my own wide and warm and strong where we twisted the sheets together. Just because loving James, it felt so_ right _._  
  
_I’m the most selfish asshole in the entire world, aren’t I? How could I do this?_  
  
Thomas fiddled with the piece of paper at the end of his teabag, glaring out of the window, trying to stare the sun down. It was rising so quickly – time was passing so quickly. Soon, James would wake up, and then Thomas would have to take his hand and explain how he could hurt him like this all these years. He had to apologize. He couldn’t _not_ apologize now, not after what had happened last night, but really, he didn’t have a proper explanation himself, except-  
  
_\- I’m just not a very nice person, James. And I’m so sorry you fell in love with me. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.  
  
_ To a stranger on the street, it might not look like it, but Thomas knew James, and he knew James was delicate, so delicate and so _fragile_. And Thomas had taken his time and broken him slowly, so slowly, and smiled, looking the other way while James shattered beneath the weight of all the pain, all the confessions left unsaid.  
  
Thomas grasped the glass tighter, and made a decision.  
  
If James would forgive him, Thomas would take him to Paris, and love him back.  
  
Because even though James deserved someone better than Thomas, it was _Thomas_ he wanted, and he deserved to be loved. If anyone deserved to be loved, it was his Jemmy. His hopelessly romantic, smart, beautiful, silly Jemmy.  
  
Thomas smiled to himself, widely, into the light of the rising sun. _I’ll give it all I got, Jemmy, you hear me? I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make up for everything.  
_  
He slipped his phone out of his pocket, still grinning widely, set his tea aside, on the couch table where their studying material from last night was still scattered across the table, the carpet and the leather couches, and booked two short-notice plane tickets to Paris with shaking hands.  
  
Then, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and hurried into the hallway.  
  
The sun was rising above New York City and Thomas Jefferson, kneeling in the hall, brushing wild tufts of hair out of his eyes, noisily dragged two suitcases out of the bottom of their shared closet.  
  
  
(* also sort of but not very) JAMES MADISON awoke alone in his bed at sunrise, sheets tangled at his feet, his entire body aching, to the sound of someone noisily whipping clothes into a suitcase out in the hallway.  
  
Through his hooded lashes, James could see that the spot next to him in his bed was empty, but he knew exactly whose warmth and smell still lingered. He knew exactly what had happened yesterday evening. He held his breath, his lips parted, and listened to the person in the hall humming a song by the Chainsmokers under their breath as a zipper was pulled closed. It was Thomas, James could tell.  
  
_Why is he packing? Is he… no. No, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t just leave._  
  
James shook his head to himself as he let his eyes slip shut again and crawled over onto Thomas side of the bed as quietly as possible, hugging the pillow close and drawing in a deep breath.  
  
Thomas couldn’t have been up for long. The sheet was still warm, smelled like cigarettes and cologne _like_ _Thomas smelled last night_.  
  
The thought made James shake slightly. He pressed his face harder into the pillow, wondering how Thomas must be feeling right now. To be honest, James hadn’t expected him to be home at all when he woke up, but here he was, and James was more confused than ever. _Why didn’t he stay in bed with me? Does it make him that uncomfortable? I thought he liked it. Didn’t he…? He must have, otherwise he wouldn’t have allowed it to go on. He isn’t like that. He would have stopped me if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t. Why didn’t he?_  
  
James reopened his eyes, lifting his head and looking to the door when he heard Thomas stand, arch and crack his back. His shadow was dancing on the bright white wall, cast onto it by the pale orange-pinkish light of the rising sun; the smell of Thomas’ expensive green tea was all around the apartment, and he had started murmuring lyrics now. He sounded so happy and familiar and James bit his lower lip as it started quivering. _Maybe he’s going back to Paris. Maybe he is leaving me again- just like the last time something like this happened. Oh God, I couldn’t take another year without him.  
  
Please, God, don’t let him be moving out. I couldn’t take it.  It would destroy me. I can’t let this happen._  
  
Without further ado, James uncurled himself from the pillow and shoved the sheets off his body and was on his feet, grabbed his boxers from the floor and a sweater from the desk chair and put both on, jumping up and down on one leg as he moved to the door while wriggling into his underwear.  
  
He tiptoed down the hallway and found Thomas in the living room, his hair up but trying to get away from its tie, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lower lip as he was collecting both their study material from the floor and couch. James couldn’t bring himself to move any further than the end of the hallway. James’ hands, clasped anxiously behind his back, holding onto the wall as he stood, stone still, watching Thomas with wide eyes as the other dropped his studying material in one of the suitcases.  
  
His voice was halfway stuck in his throat, gruff with sleep and his urge to cry his eyes out when he finally managed to lift it.  
  
“Are you moving out?” James asked, and Thomas jumped, the cigarette dropping from his mouth and James’ notebook and biro from his hands as he looked up at him, eyes wide.  
  
They stared at each other for a second, both unable to move, both _obviously_ thinking about last night, and James’ heart was racing, his knees weak until Thomas’ wide lips curled into a soft smile and he shook his head, as if meaning to say _silly James, I won’t leave you. How did you get that idea? I won’t leave, I love you! You’re so silly, James._ But then he was actually saying something, and James swore he could have died with relief right then and there.  
  
“Why would I ever do that, Jemmy?”  
  
Something inside his chest felt balled up inside itself and stretched open so widely at the same time. He choked around his next words. “Because I love you. And you don’t love me. And you moved out before, and it seems so logical.” He hated the way his voice shook. He’d hated the way it shook for as long as he could remember, he hated how his heart melted when Thomas looked down at his feet, hated how James knew he’d made him feel bad, and how he couldn’t help but hate himself for it.  
  
“I know I did. And- I don’t think I ever actually said that I’m… I’m sorry.” Thomas wouldn’t look at him; his jaw was set, and James blinked, his eyes wet. Thomas glanced sideways, to the window, and then, finally back at him.  
  
“For everything. For- for hurting you, for always knowing knew how much you loved me-“  
  
“- you _knew_?”  
  
“- and still acting the way I did for so long. Jemmy, I-“ He ran a hand over his head, scoffing at his own loss of words. More curls tumbled out of his bun and James’ heart was pounding so hard. _Thomas. My Thomas._  
  
_His_ Thomas let out a shallow, delirious breath, throwing his hands up and then burying them in the pockets of his jeans with a pathetic huff. “Fuck, I’m so bad at this, I don’t even know where to begin with my apology-“  
  
“Then don’t.”  
  
James was just as surprised as Thomas looked at the two words coming out of his mouth- Thomas let out a wet scoff, frowning.  
  
“W-what do you mean, _don’t_?”  
  
James swallowed hard, and stepped forward, walking up to the other man and bending over to pick up the cigarette Thomas had dropped. He tucked it into the other man’s chest pocket, and looked up at him in the morning light, how he was staring down at him, pupils blown and breathing flat and unsteady as he took a careful step back, putting a little space between them.  
  
“Jemmy, I-“ he coaxed out, and James placed a hand firmly on his heaving chest. Thomas stared down at him, swallowing hard.  
  
“I forgive you,” James said quietly, and suddenly, all the tension flew out of Thomas body, and he melted against James, winding his arms around him and pulling him close, pressing all the air out of James’ lungs for just a moment.  
  
“Thank you, Jemmy. Thank you.” He said into his shoulder, his voice clouded with relief. James chuckled awkwardly and tried to loosen Thomas grip on him, but Thomas held on with a soft whine creeping up the back of his throat, so James gave in and closed his eyes against Thomas’ shoulder, taking in his smell and warmth and the quick beating of his heart and thought that he didn’t really want to get away anyway.  
  
They stood in silence, holding each other in the warm morning light, breathing each other in and waiting for one of them to let go. They didn’t, until James leaned away a little to glance at the suitcases with a frown. “Why are you packing, though?” he said, and Thomas pulled his head away from James’ shoulder to grin at the suitcases and then at the man in his arms. _He’s still holding my waist. He’s so warm, and so close, and wow, wow. This is happening, right?  
  
_ “I’m going to Paris, and you’re coming with me.” Thomas said, smiling, and James, with an incredulous gasp, pushed him away slightly.  
  
“Thomas! No, we can’t do that.”  
  
Thomas just shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”  
  
James gave him a look, trailing his hands up his chest without really thinking. Thomas looked startled for a second; that sort of hungrily desirous expression was about him again, the one he’d gotten earlier when James had returned his cigarette.  
  
“Uh… because I’m studying law and you’re studying political science and international communications and we can’t just _leave_ in the middle of the semester? What the fuck, Thomas?”  
  
Thomas frowned, leaning back in and kissing the base of his jaw. James shuddered and tipped his head to the side, letting him. “It actually is possible. We can take a break until Christmas. I looked into it, we can do this.” Thomas murmured against the skin of James’ neck.  
  
“But… we could get in trouble.” James gritted his teeth; Thomas was kissing his neck a little more insistently now, nipping gently at his pulse point, his fingers digging a little into James’ sides.  
  
“Trouble isn’t always that bad, Jemmy…”  
  
James rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh, pushing him away. Thomas whined, trying to lean back in, but James held him an arm’s length away. “Thomas. We are in college. I was going to graduate this summer! And you should really take your education a little more seriously.”  
  
Thomas sighed, tipping his head back. James spotted a hickey disappearing below his collar and shuddered again.  Thomas seemed to feel it, because when he looked back at James, he was grinning a little recklessly. “Look, I know. But Paris…. It’s beautiful in fall. It’s the best time to go there. And I’ve always wanted to take you.” He leaned back in, and James let him, couldn’t bring himself to care about his 7am class anymore.  
  
“Imagine it.” Thomas’ breath was hot against his ear. James bit his lip to stifle a low sigh. “You and me… le gardin du luxembourgh, mon chéri… you could practice your French, and we could go on walks, long ones between autumn colored trees, and I could show you places…” He nipped at James’ earlobe, eliciting a sharp gasp from the other man.  
  
“I could _take_ you places. Take you out- dancing.” A sharp nip at the nape of James neck, another needy gasp. “We can look at art- Le louvre- be sophisticated. Attend embarrassing rooftop parties, visit Adrienne… we could laugh at tourists and spend whole afternoons trying out different cafés. Spend too much money on things we don’t need. We could take stupid pictures in front of the Eiffel tower…” his hands skimmed over James’ back and James leaned into it without conscious thought.  
  
“Or, if you’re feeling it, we could stay inside all day. And study, and write. We could have someone send us their notes. I could read to you… old stuff and new stuff and the small bits and pieces Laf sends us of that kid’s novel – Alex? S’that his name…” His hands were beneath James’ sweater now. How had they even gotten there?  
  
“And Lafayette and I, we share a loft in Paris, remember? Downtown. You can see the Sacré-Cœur from the window in the living room.” His breath ghosted across James’ throat; he jumped, and Thomas’ hands slid lower on his back, tracing the top of his boxers just slightly.  
  
“And that loft, Jemmy… _my room_ in that loft… it’s got a very nice bed…” he grinned against his skin when James moaned, both with lust and annoyance, and forcefully withdrew the other man’s hands from the top of his pants.  
  
“… we-we wouldn’t even get a flight anymore, Thomas. You’re being unrealistic.” He said firmly, walking away and grabbing a pair of jeans out of one of the suitcases. He wriggled into them, realizing how hot he was all over, hot and tingling, _oh God_ , and Paris sounded _so nice_ … Paris with Thomas, _autumn_ with _Thomas_ in _Paris_ … how the fuck was he supposed to say no to this?  
  
Thomas watched as he sipped up his fly and did up the button, and there was a smile in his voice when he lifted it.  
  
“But I already booked. Our flight leaves in two hours at JFK.” He said lightly, and James turned around, glaring at him, not really angry.  
  
“Thomas!” he shouted at the other man, who just grinned and closed the distance between them again, shamelessly pushing his hands into James’ back pockets and pressing their hips together.   
  
“I want to make it up to you. All this time… and I _knew_ what you were going through. That’s unforgivable, Jemmy, and I know you don’t want to hear any of this, you made it quite clear, but I just have to make that up to you. And I think that just the two of us, a break from college, and Paris would be just what we need.” He kissed James jaw once more, lightly, then leaned away, eyeing James’ face with a smile, already knowing he’d won.  
  
“We have two hours. But you know, on morning traffic circumstances, so we have to decide quickly. What do you say?”  
  
James looked at him, his mouth ajar, then shook his head, huffing a laugh and putting his arms around Thomas’ shoulders. He bit his lip and watched Thomas follow the motion of his mouth. _I want to kiss him again. I never want to stop kissing him. And he’s right. Paris could be a start, a start of something new._ He leaned in with a long sigh until his lips were just off Thomas’, and he could feel him breathing slightly shortly. He eyed his face with a smile.  
  
“You’re fucking crazy, Thomas Jefferson.”  
  
Thomas blinked, and then grinned. “You love it.” He said dryly, and James nodded seriously, mouthing _I do,_ like a confession, like it was something Thomas didn’t know about yet. Thomas’ grin deepened, turned adoring and a little goofy. “Good.” He breathed, and then, before James could think again that he wanted to kiss him, Thomas was the first to lean in.  
  
Their lips met, and it was entirely different from last night. Last night had been needy, drunk and too aroused and hasty to matter that much, but this, this was soft and yearning and promising. And James fell in love all over again as fireworks lit up in his chest and Thomas pulled him closer to deepen the kiss.  
  
And James kissed him back, because no matter what Thomas had done, no matter how unforgivable it was, James loved him- would always love him. And he was tired of things being sad and complicated, and so ready, _so ready_ for something new to come. And this kiss tasted like that something; like green tea with honey and no pain.  
  
And perhaps, things would get complicated again, and sad, but right now, James didn’t care. Maybe Thomas was right, maybe trouble wasn’t always a bad thing.  
  
If he wanted to be with Thomas, he could do that, and it didn’t matter what had happened in the past, because this wasn’t about what either of them had done. It was about what they were yet to do.  
  
It was about their future, not their past.  
  
And it was just the beginning.  
  
The sun was rising above New York City and Thomas Jefferson and James Madison kissed, drowning in the rosé morning light that spilled in through the living room window.  
_  
  
_ “What’s your name, then?” ANGELICA SCHUYLER cocked an eyebrow at the prettily grinning barista, who was leaning towards her a little too much, holding up the empty cup and the sharpie.  
  
“Angelica.” She snarled. He huffed a laugh, a small “Okay…” and scribbled onto the cup. “And you are.” He muttered under his breath, retreating towards the coffee machine to make her Americano.  
  
She lifted her other eyebrow. “Excuse me?” she shouted after him; he threw her another one of those insufferable grins over his wide shoulder. The coffee machine started hissing and howling, and he leaned against the counter, facing her. “I said ‘and you are’. Your name. It suits you.”  
  
Angelica’s frown deepened. _What the fuck did he just say…?  
  
_ “ _What_?”  
  
“You are angelic.” He replied, stressing the ‘are’ as if it was the most revolutionary realization he’d ever had. Angelica scoffed and snorted and couldn’t keep herself from rolling her eyes while the girl in line behind her cooed softly. _Like that is supposed to flatter me. What the hell…?_  
  
“Right. Thanks, I guess” She said, not flattered in the slightest, scoffed again and grabbed two sugar parcels and a cap for her cup so she could get out of the noisy morning in the coffee shop as quickly as possible.  
  
“I’m serious. Can’t you take a compliment?” He returned to the register, coffee in hand, and placed it in front of her, still just eyeing her. He licked his lips, smirking, and she shuddered with disgust and pointed firmly at the coffee. “Aren’t you going to make me pay for that?” She growled, and he shook his head, his smirk softening just a little. “Your coffee’s on the house.” He added, and she grabbed it with a sigh, turning on her heel. “Okay. Whatever. Thanks, I guess.”  
  
She didn’t bother to say goodbye; just made for the door as quickly as possible, hiking her purse higher up on her shoulder.  
  
“Do come back tomorrow!” he shouted after her before she managed to slip out. She didn’t even turn around, just shouted back at the same volume that he should shut up, go home and pull his damn pants up. She could hear him laugh before the door fell shut behind her, drowning the sounds of the coffee shop away; they were replaced by the louder sounds of the streets as she hurried down the sidewalk, wanting to get as far away from the harasser-shop as possible.  
  
Angelica took a sip of the coffee and buried herself further in her turtleneck sweater, trying to stop her heart from racing. _Come on, Schuyler, it’s not like you’re not used to that._  
  
The boys around the way hollered at her every day, but she didn’t particularly mind, it was just annoying. How could these guys just assume that she was interested in them? It was just ridiculous.  
  
Angelica wasn’t looking for anyone. She had never been looking for anyone, and if so, it would be a mind at work, not some dude who was whistling because he had nothing to say or turning her name scribbled on the side of a coffee cup into an uncomfortable, unwanted ‘compliment’, as the barista had called it. If she wanted to sleep with someone – relationships weren’t her thing, anyway – then she was always finding, not seeking.  
  
And maybe she should be worried about the fact that she hadn’t had anything stable in, like, ever, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Her heart belonged to her Peggy and Eliza and her books, and this beautiful, exciting city she had the privilege to live in.  
  
She had moved out of her parents’ upper east side suite with Eliza around the age of 20, which was now almost four years ago, and they had found a high-walled, clean loft with whitewashed walls in Lower Manhattan, and ever since she was independent, she finally had the feeling New York was her home.  
  
And for that, for being in a place of peace with her surroundings and herself, she didn’t need a boy by her side, or a girl or any significant other.  
  
She needed only herself and this city, and maybe her coffee. Give her that, and she was invincible _.  
  
_ Angelica smiled to herself and took a sip from her to-go cup, looking around herself.  
  
The streets were already filled with pure, ecstatic life at this early time, shouting, car engines and a street artist with a slightly out-of-tune guitar at the corner belting a Frank Sinatra song, wailing sirens and the mild, fresh morning breeze whistling through the avenue, carrying the smell of the river, autumn leaves, fog and exhaust fumes. She heard the turbo engines of the planes blazing their way through the sky, and looked up, thought a little about the years gone by.  
  
The sun was creeping up the horizon in the east behind the skyscrapers of Brooklyn, and when Angelica looked down again, sighing happily, the light turned green.  
  
The sun was rising above New York City and Angelica Schuyler crossed the street, humming along to the street artist’s song in her head. _  
  
If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere, it’s up to you, New York, New York…  
  
  
_ MARIA REYNOLDS looked up from her Instagram feed on her phone with a grin when Eliza, scowling, set a cup and plate down in front of her. “You’re the laziest person I know.” She said, hitching down her skirt as she sat down opposite of her where her tea and chocolate croissant were already waiting.  
  
“Uh, excuse you. Do I need to remind you of the fact that you’re the one in this relationship who sits around thinking about flowers all day every day and calls it ‘work’?” she teased good-naturedly, putting her phone away with one last fond look at the picture John had just posted of himself and Alex, sitting together on the front step of the flower shop with matching snapchat dog filters attached to both their faces. She straightened with a content sigh, grinned at Eliza, who just flipped her off, smiling adoringly around a bite of her croissant before wiping the corners of her mouth with the tips of her fingers and looking back at the book she’d taken out of her bag. Maria pulled her plate and avocado sandwich closer to herself, glancing out of the slightly fogged up windows.  
  
They had overslept today; Peggy’s birthday party yesterday had lasted into the early hours of the morning, and they’d woken up with a hangover at almost half to 8 am, over one and a half hours after their usual wake-up time, and Alex, who had just started working the morning shift with Eliza again and was usually the first one at the shop these days, had sent Eliza a worrying amount of texts displaying various levels of anxiety. Eliza had panicked and dragged Maria out of the  bed and then their apartment; they’d ran into Angelica in the kitchen, who was having her first morning coffee and looking at them with her usual morning scowl.  
  
Maria had barely managed to get Eliza to stop for breakfast in a too large, busy coffee shop. She had found a tiny, free table in the corner while Eliza went and ordered for both of them.  
  
“It pays the bills, also, I love my job. Not everyone in the world can be a barista. Besides, working with Peggy would be the death of me. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but not when she’s together with Laf. They’re absolutely insufferable. Anyway, I’m getting off topic, I wasn’t done complaining about how lazy you are.” Eliza took a sip of her tea, wincing and frowning when it burned her tongue. “Is that just going to get worse once we’re married? Are you going to turn into, like, a middle-aged, football-watching, trump-supporting white guy who smells like sadness and old beers and anger towards the government once we’re married? Because if so, I’d like to reconsider.”  
  
Maria pulled a face, cocking her head to the side. “Eww. You have a very lively imagination.” She said, grinning with a slight frown at her sandwich. _Once we’re married. She said ‘once we’re married’. That is just… just insane_. Maria cradled her chin in her hands, her fingers coming up to cover her ever widening smile as she watched the girl opposite of her; eyed the movement of her pale fingers as she brushed a stray strand of dark, sleek hair behind her ear that had fallen out of her messy bun; the way she scrunched up her nose as she frowned, giggling with just a slight sense of pride. “I’ve been told.” She said dryly, shifting her shoulder – Maria watched the soft dip of her collar bone where it disappeared beneath Eliza’s light grey sweater. Eliza returned her attention to her book, and Maria noticed the soft curve of her lips as she smiled at something she read, not looking at her but at the page she was turning; the smooth skin of her cheeks was rosy from the change of temperature now that they were inside. Maria managed to finally blink when Eliza reached for her cup.  
  
She had to remind herself regularly that the girl, the woman across the table wasn’t just someone she was head over heels in love with and who was just too good to be true, but her fiancé. Her _fiancé_ ; it was insane, it was unbelievable, even though they had been together for now a little over two years. Maria couldn’t keep herself from grinning.  
  
Eliza took another sip of her tea, and shifted in her seat. She placed her cup back down on the white-painted wood of the table, pursing her lips, discontented. Apparently, it was still too hot. “I know it’s called ‘hot beverages’, but like, why can’t they serve them at a temperature that doesn’t make you want to cry?” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Maria watched as she started stirring her tea with the long, slim metal spoon and ran a hand through her chin-long curls, looking at the table.  
  
_I can’t believe it. I still can’t believe it._  
  
She glanced back up at Eliza, then back to the fogged up window; then back at the other girl, and lingered.  
  
After a while, Eliza looked up from her book, met her intense gaze, and blushed. She wiped her mouth, licking off a small chocolate stain from the corner of it. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. “You’re staring.” She said after a beat of silence.  
  
Maria blinked and took a breath, shaking her head to herself. “Sorry.”  
  
Eliza chuckled softly. “No, not at all. I don’t mind. You _know_ I don’t mind. Is my lipstick smudged or something?” She started wiping at her mouth again, and Maria looked down at her plate again, pushing her avocado sandwich from one edge of it to the other. She chewed on the inside of her cheek a little shyly. “No, I just…” she couldn’t stop herself from smiling again, a little shyly into her scarf.  
  
“I can’t believe we’re getting married. It’s just… surreal. I’m so lucky.” She shrugged, watching Eliza blush. “Shut up.” The other girl poured sugar into her tea, trying to hide her evident grin and then looking up.  
  
“Speaking of which, Mom did say she’ll help us planning, but we have to come up with a concept, so-” She leaned her elbows on the table, straightening and counting on her fingers as she went on. “Date. Setting, guests! Colors and decorations, and dresses! Oh, I can’t wait to pick a dress!” She squealed happily into the cuff of her sweater. Maria took a sip of her coffee, chuckling.  
  
“Okay, uh, a date… I was thinking winter. If you’re okay with winter, that is. I’ve always wanted a winter wedding.” She grinned, dreamily and excitedly at Maria across the table.  
  
Maria frowned. “Whatever you want, but winter? Really? Like, we have to work as a team on this, Betsy-“ she was interrupted by a laugh escaping her. “- and I can’t really see how a winter wedding is supposed to start off an equal marriage. Like, it fits your color scheme perfectly, but mine not at all. And that’s just not very fair, if you’re asking me.” She laughed again when Eliza rolled her eyes but got quiet when she started rubbing at her neck a little awkwardly.  
  
“I was just thinking winter because… well, because by spring, I’ll be kinda… by spring I’ll be a little…” She gestured vaguely at her stomach like she was hugging something big, grimacing, and once Maria realized what she was talking about, her mouth formed a silent ‘o’.  
  
“Ah, I see… sorry, I didn’t think about it for a moment… in that case, we’ll have to…” she cleared her throat, blushing hard, happily. She could feel herself practically _glowing_. _We’re building a future together. This is a good thing, this is so good, and it’s happening, it’s actually happening._ “We’ll have to have the wedding as soon as possible, right? Did you…” she continued and trailed off again.  
  
Eliza frowned, leaning her head on her elbows. “Did I what? Tell my parents yet that they’re literally going to have a grandchild by May? No. No, I haven’t.” She inhaled deeply, but she was smiling as she glanced downward, running a hand over her stomach. “I didn’t tell anyone yet. Not even John, like… I think nobody knows yet.” She looked up and met Maria’s big-eyed gaze, and Maria believed to see a little bit of fear, or rather, uncertainty flicker across her features.  
  
They silently stared at each other for a moment, then, Maria lifted her hand and took Eliza’s free one lying on the table. Like out of habit, their fingers intertwined, fitting together as well as ever. Where Eliza’s fingers were slim and pale and her knuckles delicate, Maria’s hands were soft, a compilation of small round shapes, faint little scars and freckles. They both looked down at their intertwined fingers.  
  
“We’ll tell them together soon, okay? Your parents? We’re going to be over all the time anyway for planning the wedding. And I’m sure they’ll be _delighted_.” Her free hand came up to cup Eliza’s jaw across the table; the other girl leaned into it slightly. “You hear me? They’ll be so happy. Your parents are great, okay? Have some faith in them.” She said firmly. Eliza flicked her eyes up at her, then back down.  
  
“Especially once they find out we’re naming our son after your dad.” She muttered, grinning cheekily. Eliza pulled her hand away and snorted.  
  
“Look, no offense, babe, but that’s just… _so_ not happening. I will not name my child after one of my parents, we live in the 21 st century.”  
  
Maria leaned on her hands, smirking. “Why not? Philip’s a nice name, and so is Catherine. Your mom is so traditional, she’d love it.” Eliza glared at her.  
  
“That is not happening, Maria!” She laughed incredulously. Maria sulked, tilting her head and lifting an eyebrow. “Why not?”  
  
Eliza lifted her hands, stammering. “Because… why do I even need to explain this?! Because it’s weird and white, and so… it’s so sappy.”  
  
“Aw. Come on, admit it. You are a sap. Just like me. We’re saps, and we’re getting married in fall, not in winter, and we’re going to have a son and call him Philip Schuyler Jr. because I’m _so_ taking your last name once we’re married. And I’m going to finally find a proper job as a social worker and we’re going to be the cutest, sappiest fucking family ever.” Eliza was laughing now, only a little embarrassed, her hand covering her mouth. Maria flicked her hair, and grinned wider.  
  
“Elizabeth, Maria, and Philip Schuyler leave the hospital together; exhausted, but so, _so_ happy. Philip Schuyler opens his eyes, and surprise, they’re brown. Elizabeth, Maria, and Philip Schuyler sleep in one huge bed because Philip is a horrible insomniac. Maria Schuyler carries him around the apartment loudly singing Rock songs and is yelled at by Aunt Angelica who still hasn’t managed to move out.” She paused to catch her breath. Eliza had cracked up a while ago, was giggling fondly, so Maria continued.  
  
“Elizabeth, Maria, and Philip Schuyler have their first Thanksgiving dinner, and Philip Schuyler throws his food at everything. Elizabeth, Maria, and Philip Schuyler go visit Aunt Peggy and Uncle Gilbert and Uncle Herc. Philip Schuyler learns his first swearword; it’s shithead. Aunt Peggy uses it. Philip Schuyler is absolutely in love with Uncle John’s and Uncle Alex’ son, their son- no wait, their daughter… their daughter Rachel.” She said, a little softer than before.  
  
They both paused for a second, suddenly very serious, but then Eliza tentatively muttered an “Elizabeth, Maria and Philip Schuyler playing soccer in the living room and breaking everything.” And Maria laughed. “Well look at that, you’re getting the hang of it! Oh, oh, Elizabeth, Maria, and Philip Schuyler go grocery shopping. Elizabeth and Maria Schuyler raise a proper feminist son, who is amazing and talented and loves all his gay parents and aunts and uncles and grows up in a very educated environment, drinking way too much coffee. Wait, here’s a good one, Elizabeth, Maria and Philip Schuyler talk about protection!”  
  
They both disappeared in a fond laughing fit until Eliza practically wheezed “Philip Schuyler gets acne!”, and Maria responded “Elizabeth and Maria Schuyler crying as Philip Schuyler has a talk at his Columbia graduation because he’s the smartest fucking kid- if a little bold. Philip Schuyler getting married to a non-gender specific significant other with great hair - they have kids with great hair, twins, name them Maria and Eliza, like the sappy shits they are. And the whole family keeps outliving each other and therefore literally live forever.” She had to pause to recollect herself. Eliza was wiping at her eyes, still chuckling. She sighed, and grinned, and took Maria’s hand, pulling it towards her and kissing her knuckles.  
  
“Okay, fine. Philip is kind of cute. But we’ll see.” She said, still smiling at her fiancé as she sat back, holding her finally cooling cup in both her hands.  
  
“You’ll be in love with the idea in just a few months. You’ll find yourself reading your stomach stories and calling it Philip. Just you wait.” Maria shot back and picked up her sandwich, finally taking a bite and glancing back to the window. The sun was rising; the sky was a mask of pale colors, yellow and blue and pink, a little dusky through the fog hanging above the city. Maria smiled at how pretty it looked and took a sip of her coffee.  
  
Time passed quicker than either of them had anticipated, and when Maria glanced down at her phone after a while, it was a quarter to 8 am, and warm but pale golden light was hitting Maria’s face at a flat, weird angle. She squinted a little. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Eliza flipping a page and taking a bite of her croissant.  
  
“I think we should get going soon. Alex must be dying.” She said quietly. Eliza reluctantly looked up with a groan. “Doesn’t he have John with him or something?”  
  
Maria shook her head and grabbed her cup, downing the rest of her coffee. “Nope, John’s first class is at eight. We really should go.”  
  
Eliza let out another discontented snort, then pushed her book into her purse and grabbed it lazily, taking a final bite of her croissant before standing. They pushed through the crowned, noisy coffee shop, shrugging on their jackets, and stepped outside into the cool morning air. Maria took a deep breath and closed her eyes against the soft light on the street with a smile. She could feel Eliza’s gaze on her and looked at her when she reopened her eyes.  
  
“What?” she asked, blushing a little. Eliza stood with the rising sun behind her, loose strands dancing in the slight autumn breeze. She brushed them back and reached for Maria’s hand, smiling down at her shoes.  
  
“Nothing, just-“ She swayed closer to Maria and sighed softly. “Look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now.” She muttered. Maria blinked, then blinked again, and squeezed the other girl’s hand.  
  
“Let’s go.” She said quietly, nudging her shoulder. Eliza nudged back as they started walking down the street.  
  
The sun was rising above New York City and Eliza Schuyler and Maria Reynolds walked down the sidewalk hand in hand, following the stream of people and their own shadows painted very softly onto the sidewalk’s concrete.  
  
  
THEODOSIA BURR JR. was awoken by her father’s sleepy voice, creeping into her softly drawn dream.  
  
“Sweetie, it’s 7 am... you gotta get up.”  
  
She cracked her eyes open slowly with a small reluctant noise and a sleepy smile, squinting against the bright light coming from the door where her father was standing, one hand on the handle in the light of the hallway.  
  
“Just a little longer…” she muttered and pressed her face deeper into the pillow. She heard him chuckle tiredly and leave the door; he walked up to the bed and sat on the edge of it. The mattress shifted and she pulled the soft warmth of the duvet tighter around herself, glancing up at him from the corner of her eye.  
  
He brushed her hair away from her forehead. “Aren’t you excited? I know I’d be.” He said, grinning faintly. “When I was your age, I loved going to school.” She scrunched up her nose and laughed, wriggling in the sheet a little.  
  
“No, I like it, too. But my bed is just… so warm.” She slurred, accompanied by a yawn. He sighed into the dark; she could hear him smile.  
  
“I know, sweetie, I know, mine was, too, but… you really have to get up. I gotta make breakfast. Mommy’s already up, too.” She just grumbled softly, when, suddenly, she remembered a promise he’d made yesterday. She shifted in her bed until she was facing him; he was smiling fondly down at her, and she lifted her voice.  
  
“You promised to make pancakes, right?” she said excitedly. He frowned slightly, then seemed to remember their handshakes yesterday evening.  
  
“Oh, right, I did…” he chuckled, ran a hand over his shaved hair, and looked to the door briefly. “Alright, but only because it’s Monday, okay, sweetie? And you’re going to get up, alright?” He nudged her shoulder, and she groaned quietly again, but sat up, shivering as she pushed the blanket away and pulled her knees in, sitting on the mattress, facing him.  
  
“You liked school?” she asked quietly, and he drew in a breath, grinning at her sheepishly as he made a so-so gesture with his hand.  
  
“Well, I liked the fact that I was offered to learn something new every day.” He corrected her. “Learning is a great thing, sweetie. And school is hard sometimes, with strict teachers, and mean classmates, and exams, and getting up early and everything but once you realize that it’s actually one of the greatest privileges of living in this century and country, you’ll learn to get through it a lot better. Now-“ he stood, ruffling her hair and then letting his wide hands linger on her shoulders for a second before pulling away.  
  
“I’m going to go make pancakes for you guys, and you’re getting up, come on!” he bent over to press a kiss to the top of her head, and she yawned again, reaching for a hair tie from her nightstand as he trotted out of the dark room.  
  
She put her hair up and away from her face and climbed out of the bed; her socked feet made soft sounds on the carpet as she waddled to the window.  
  
_I am offered to learn something new every day_ , she thought happily _. It’s a privilege; a great one.  
  
_ The sun was rising above New York City and Theodosia Burr Jr. pulled up the blinds with a small smile and a yawn, letting the light of the new morning flood her bedroom. _  
  
  
_ After AARON BURR left his daughter’s room, he went downstairs, yawning multiple times as he passed the bathroom, where he could hear Theo was singing softly. He padded into the kitchen and plugged the radio into the wall. It went off, blasting a pop song; he quickly turned it down and switched it to the news, rolling the sleeves of his sweatshirt up and starting to rummage through the pantries, gathering the supplies for pancakes.  
  
He looked out of the window, down at the street, at the people hurrying by, mostly teenagers and parents on their way to work or school as he poured flour into a big glass bowl, and wondered for a second how Alexander was doing.  
  
He hadn’t talked to him since Rachel’s funeral, but he’d seen his friends around, on the street, at the French guy’s coffee shop he had started attending every now and then in his lunch break. He’d bumped into John sometime in August when he was visiting Rachel’s grave. They hadn’t talked, they hadn’t even really looked at each other; they’d just stood at her grave together, and at some point, John had started crying, so much, and Aaron hadn’t really known how to react, so he’d kind of just put an arm around the boy a little awkwardly for a brief moment, squeezing his shoulder and then left.  
  
Ever since Adams had been fired and replaced with a friendly, openminded and a little boring doctor from Virginia named Monroe, it had gotten a lot more relaxed at the hospital. The tightness of Aaron’s schedule was a lot less horrifying now since Monroe had hired a lot of new nurses, and he had found himself actually enjoying his work again. He missed George, though; the station really wasn’t the same without him.  
  
He and Theo had helped George and Martha move into their new apartment in DC in June, and they had come to visit the other week. Theo, Martha and he had sat on the back porch lazily, drinking coffee and telling Martha about the early days of raising a child while George and little Theodosia cut the branches on the cherry tree in their back garden, Theodosia getting adorably excited about all the action going on.  
  
Aaron smiled to himself at the memory, reaching for the milk and starting to stir the dough. _Maybe they can come visit on Thanksgiving again- maybe Alex and John could come, as well, I could text him about that. Although- they’ll probably spend it with the Schuylers._  
_  
_ “Hey.”  
  
He looked up and smiled widely when he saw Theo walking into the kitchen, dropping her purse by the table and shooting him a smile.  
  
“Did you wake the little one?” she asked, walking up to him and slinging her arms around his middle from behind, kissing the side of his face and then pulling away, starting to make coffee.  
  
“I heard that!” Theodosia shouted, acting upset as she whirled into the kitchen and dropped her schoolbag next to her mother’s. “And I’m _not pleased_. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not little?” she crossed her arms, sitting down at the kitchen table with a scowl. Theo apologized with a grin, and sat down next to her daughter, asking if she was allowed to braid her hair. They continued talking quietly, exchanging affectionate small words, and Aaron returned his attention to the bowl, adding the eggs and the salt.  
  
Theodosia had been in school for about three weeks now, and Aaron was simply amazed at the shift he’d noticed in her appearance, general behavior and especially her vocabulary. She talked so much, just _so much_ ; she seemed to really love words and picked up any book she could get, any word she heard one of her parents say. It was pretty hard to keep up with her; she’d learned a handful of swear words from her classmates already, and Aaron regularly had to tell her not to use certain words. She was starting to be a handful. But it was exciting and endearing to see her grow like this in such a short period of time, and he loved it.  
  
“Daddy’s making pancakes. Because he promised me yesterday, you see?” He heard Theodosia inform Theo from behind him. She laughed softly.  
  
“That’s nice of him to do.” She agreed, and Aaron grinned to himself.  
  
“It is. I’m already wearing my work clothes, Van Ness is going to keep asking me why I smell like food the whole day.” He muttered; he knew Theo was grinning, and he heard Theodosia hop off the chair she had been sitting on. She padded towards him and stood on her toes next to the counter, placing her chin on the edge of it, her little hands creeping up and holding onto it as she tilted her head, eyeing the bowl.  
  
“Don’t you think you stirred that enough, Dad? I’m hungry.” She complained, and he rolled his eyes good-naturedly, letting go of the whisk and picking her up, lifting her small frame into his arms so she was sitting on his hip, pressing into his side warmly. She squealed happily, her small hands curling around the back of his sweatshirt as he reached into a drawer and pulled out a scoop.  
  
“Do you want to give it a go?” he asked, and she chewed on the knuckles of her free thumb a little anxiously, then nodded.  
  
He poured oil into the pan he’d already gotten out, and they stood, both watching attentively as it heated up. Behind them, Theo poured herself a cup of coffee, leaning against the counter.  
  
“Okay, let’s go.” He said after a moment, holding the bowl of dough out to Theodosia. She picked up the scoop from the counter with both hands, having to let go of his shirt for a moment, screeching softly. He held her a little tighter, reassuring silently that there was no way she could fall, he would never, ever let her fall as she dipped the scoop deep into the dough, worrying her brow in concentration.  
  
He and Theo both watched attentively and cheered when she managed to pour the dough into the pan without spilling anything.  
  
“You did it!” Theo said behind them, making grabby hands towards their daughter; he let her lift Theodosia from his hip and pepper her face with feathery kisses; they were both giggling, and he smiled, squinting against the warm, pale morning light falling into the room as he lifted the pan and tilted it to spread the dough in it.  
_  
_ The sun was rising above New York City and Aaron Burr, a soft, content smile on his lips, listened to his wife and daughter starting to hum along to a song on the radio behind him. _  
  
  
_ “Do you have everything?” THEO BURR looked down at Theodosia with her eyebrows lifted; the little girl rolled her eyes, hiking her backpack higher on her shoulders.  
  
“I do, Mom. Let’s go.” She said, her high voice a little annoyed, and Theo turned around, leaning into the kitchen where Aaron still stood, his coffee in hand and phone out.  
  
“We’re off, honey. Have a good day.” She informed him, and he looked up, smiling.  
  
“Drive safe!” he said softly and blew her a kiss, which she returned with a grin before hurrying back to the hallway where Theodosia was on the floor, wriggling into her shoes. She kneeled in front of her and helped her tie her shoelaces, then straightened her jacket.  
  
“Are you saying goodbye to Poppa?” she asked, brushing a stray curl out of her daughter’s face.  
  
“Bye, Poppa!” she shouted with another brief eye-roll, clenching her little fists around the hem of her sweater.  
  
“Bye, sweetie! Blow them all away!” came Aaron’ voice from the kitchen, evidently wearing a smile. Theo stood again and held her hand out for Theodosia to take; she did, her small hand grasping Theo’s tightly, and Theo pulled her out of the door.  
  
They drove to school, Theodosia all the while happily babbling away about the lessons she’d have today as Theo steered the car through the morning traffic. The school was just a few streets away. Theo was a high school teacher, but since elementary-, middle- and high school were all on one campus, she took her daughter with her to school every morning.  
  
They arrived in the wide, packed parking lot ten minutes before 8 am, and got out of the car, both hurrying towards the student-filled, busy schoolyard. Theo stood on her toes and furrowed her brow, attempting to find her friend Louise with her eyes while her daughter took her hand again, letting her pull her through the crowd and towards the building.  
  
“Theo!”  
  
Theo turned on her heel when she heard Louise’s voice, and grinned, waving back at her friend where she stood in front of the management building, a lit cigarette in her hand that she now dropped to the ground and stepped out with her heel.  
  
Theo strode towards her friend and hugged her quickly, then kneeled next to her daughter, kissing her cheek and pointing to the crowd.  
  
“Wanna see if you can find Angie somewhere?” she asked, and Theodosia narrowed her eyes at the crowd, until, suddenly, her eyes lit up.  
  
“I see her!” she shouted happily, turning up to face Theo with her eyes glowing.  
  
“Where?” Theo asked, feigning excitement. Theodosia pointed to a group of elementary students beneath some maple trees near the elementary school building, and Theo spotted her daughter’s friend’s bright red ponytail.  
  
“Aah, yes, I see her, too! Wanna go meet her? I have to go to my first lesson, as well.” Theo leaned over Theodosia’s shoulder and nudged her encouragingly, and Theodosia stood with them for one more second, fidgeting with her cuff a little nervously, then nodded; and then she was letting go of Theo’s hand and running towards the other girl in the distance.  
  
“Bye, sweetie, have a good day!” Theo shouted after her; her little girl turned around briefly, waving and grinning into the sunlight behind the tall buildings outside the schoolyard. Then, she had reached the maple trees, and was greeted by her classmates; Theo could hear their high, delicate laughter carried to her by the wind. She narrowed her eyes, watching as her girl waddled away with her friends, carrying a backpack twice the size of her own torso. She squinted into the brightness reflected by the white façades of the school buildings.  
  
“She’s grown since I last saw her,” Louise said behind her suddenly, and Theo turned around after another moment, smiling fondly.  
  
“She has. A while ago, she couldn’t reach the songbooks up on the church benches whenever I took her to the choir.”  
  
Theo briefly remembered a Friday evening; a choir night in late June, on which she’d stayed in the church while her daughter sang. She remembered the church gates creaking open softly, remembered a man – or rather, a boy walking in. He’d sat down a few rows behind her, and she had joined him after a while. They’d talked.  
  
Theo realized she couldn’t even quite remember his name. Had he even told her?  
  
She could vaguely recall how he had talked about his mother dying, and Theo thought that she should have given him different advice than the whole ‘staying silent for a while’ thing. He hadn’t actually seemed like the kind of person silence did any good too.  
  
She wondered how his life had turned out; where he was now. If he was happy; if he was watching the sunrise behind the skyscrapers with someone he loved.  
  
Louise was watching the side of her face, a soft smile playing with her features.  
  
“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” she said quietly, hooking her arm around Theo’s and pulling her towards the high school building gently.  
_  
_ The sun was rising above New York City and Theo Burr looked down at her feet.  
  
“They sure do.” She replied, smiling.  
**  
  
** When PEGGY SCHUYLER opened her eyes, it took her a moment to realize where she was.  
  
There was darkness all around her; warmth and loud breathing, and the smell of sweat and roses. Peggy frowned and reached up to touch her face, and it turned out that the darkness was a mix of their blanket and Laf’s loose hair.  
  
She spat it out, suppressing a screech, and sat up semi-carefully, blinking into the blinding, bright morning light and running a hand up and through her hair as she glanced down at her bedmates, holding the sheet to her chest that she knew was naked.  
  
Laf was lying halfway on his side, one arm draped across Herc’s chest, fingers grasping the other boy’s loosely; his other hand had been resting beneath her neck, and his hair was sprawled all over the pillow. Herc was sleeping like a baby, drooling a little onto Laf’s shoulder. Peggy smiled fondly, ignoring the pounding in her temples as she slipped out of the bed and picked up yesterday’s red bra that either she or one of the others had flung across the room yesterday evening; she couldn’t really remember. She put them on and slipped into a pair of sweatpants – probably Laf’s, they were huge – and stood at the window for a moment, her arms crossed as she shivered, her shoulders hunched.   
  
She looked down at the grayness of the street and grinned with a yawn.  
  
_So this is what it feels like to be nineteen.  
  
Think I could get used to it. _  
**  
** Peggy tiptoed out of the room, leaving her lovers behind and searching the quiet apartment for the laundry basket John had done some time on Saturday. When she found it hidden beneath a pile of pillows in the living room, she tugged out Laf’s new pastel yellow hoodie that she knew he would never wear because she would confiscate it from now on. She pulled it over her head and tied her hair up, padding to the hall after grabbing her phone, someone’s set of keys and a few bucks from their shared apartment-donation jar (everyone had to put spare dollars into it they found in the apartment, which happened way too often because none of them were particularly organized) from the kitchen table.  
  
She wriggled into her Vans and slipped out of the apartment, hurrying down the stairs and through the foyer.  
  
The air outside was fresh and so cold it hurt a little when Peggy inhaled for the first time; she shivered and pushed her hands into her pockets, strolling down the sidewalk and watching the first cars and pedestrians of the morning pass by.  
  
She walked for a while in the general direction of Atlantic Avenue, enjoying the calmness and cold and smiling to herself; the streets were pretty much empty, after all, it wasn’t even 6 am, and a Monday morning. Nobody got up this early on Mondays, especially not when it was the day after their birthday.  
  
_My birthday.  
  
I’m nineteen._ She grinned to herself. _Only nineteen but as old as Alex and John. For a couple of months, at least._ **  
  
** She crossed the street and, without really thinking, entered a small, just opening bakery. It smelled like bread and warmth and Peggy greeted the yawning barista with a smile.  
  
She bought four buns for her roommates and two for herself and told the barista to keep the change.  
  
Strolling down Atlantic Avenue in the morning that smelled like autumn and fog and only faintly like the sewers, Peggy pulled pieces out of one of the still warm buns, nibbling at them as she watched the Avenue come to live.  
  
She wasn’t really headed for the riverside park but ended up there, standing in the water and sharing her second bun with a couple of ducks on the river; they were loud but good company, and Peggy sat on a bench by the shore for a little while, watching them swim around in the water close to her – they were probably hoping for more food. Peggy showed them their empty hands and apologized.  
  
Joggers passed her and Peggy breathed happily, relishing the fact that there was nothing to worry about; everything was in its place. She was nineteen, and the cool morning was doing miracles on her hangover, and when she returned home, there would be a warm apartment full of wonderful people. There would be love. Love and no confusion, no worries.  
  
Peggy breathed deeply and listened to the slosh of the water, the ducks complaining about how she wouldn’t give them more buns, and the faint sounds of the city across the river.  
  
After a while, Peggy grew cold, so she grabbed the paper bag with the buns and headed back, away from the ducks and the river and the park, down now busier Atlantic Avenue.  
  
When she passed the church, she saluted towards the gate to the churchyard, and smiled faintly, and muttered a greeting.  
  
The apartment was warm and quiet when she returned; she had only been gone for twenty minutes, it was a little before 6 am, but the sun was starting to rise.  
  
Peggy went to the kitchen and dropped the buns on the counter, spotting a book with a young, Asian looking woman in a white dress on the cover. _Kitchen_ , by Banana Yoshimoto. Peggy smiled curiously and picked the paperback up, opening it.  
  
Judging by the state of the slots on the side of the pages, it either belonged to John or Alex. The text was framed with bulky, sloppy handwriting, pretty obviously belonging to Alex, but also swift doodles and cursive writing, John’s. Peggy wondered for a second if they were sharing this book, maybe sort of messaging each other in it, or shouting each other out, and for a moment, it seemed like such a private and intimate gesture between the two of them, something not meant for Peggy’s eyes, but then she shrugged, hopped on the counter and opened the book in her lap.  
  
_The place I like best in this world is the kitchen.  No matter where it is, no matter what kind, if it’s a kitchen, if it’s a place where they make food, it’s fine with me.*  
_  
Beneath this, John had scribbled ‘You really should cook more often’, and a Lenny face. Peggy grinned, a little confused, but then returned her attention to the next sentence, bouncing her foot against the counter she was sitting on. Morning light fell through the window on the kitchen wall.  
  
The sun was rising in New York City, and Peggy Schuyler kept reading.  
**  
  
** GILBERT DU MOTIER woke up with his left side cold. Groaning softly, he untangled himself from Herc and rubbed at his eyes as he sat up, looking down at where Peggy’s part of the bed was empty.  
  
He let his slightly bleary eyes skim over the room. Her red bra from yesterday and his sweatpants from the floor were gone, as well.  
  
Laf pressed a cold hand to his warm forehead and pouted unconsciously, chewing a little on the inside of his own cheek. The bed was soft and warm beneath him, Herc stirring softly in his sleep, but he was cold, and now he was awake, and with a quick glance at the alarm clock on his bedside table, which read half to 7 am, he lifted his legs out of the bed with another groan. **  
  
** He got dressed as well as he could, taking Herc’s sweatpants from the floor and not bothering to find a shirt before padding out of the room into the hallway. The air here was warmer than in his room, and he relaxed a little on his way down the hallway to the kitchen on a quest for coffee.  
  
He found Peggy sitting cross-legged on the counter, wearing his sweater and pants, a book in her lap and a cup of cocoa next to her. He squinted into the light reflected by the white-painted pantries and lifted a hand lazily in greeting.  
  
“Bonjour, mon chér.” He yawned and stalked towards her, smiling softly when she looked up from her book, blinking.  
  
“Morning.” She replied, and bent towards him as he leaned against the counter by the coffee machine, pressing a couple of buttons and making it whir. A hand was gingerly placed on his jaw and he grinned when she tilted his face up, kissing him.  
  
She tasted like sleep and cocoa, her tongue soft against his lips, and he exhaled happily into their kiss, running his hand up her thigh and leaving it there even after they pulled away.  
  
“What are you reading?” he asked, pulling her cup to his mouth and stealing a sip of her cocoa.  
  
“Kitchen by that Japanese woman. One of either John’s or Alex’.” She said, eyes lighting up. “It’s really, really good, but I sort of feel like I’m taking a walk in their relationship by reading it, they use it to communicate. Or rather, they talk about it to each other in writing. Or, I don’t know. You know what I mean.” She shrugged, and stole her cup back from him with a scoff, then returned her attention to the book.  
  
The coffee machine whirred, and Peggy’s thigh beneath his hand was warm. He eyed the side of her face, her chubby cheeks, and full lips yet without make-up, and leaned into her a little more, squeezing her thigh gently.  
  
“Are you coming back to bed, Peggs? My left side is cold.”  
  
She chuckled and ruffled his hair, but shook her head, closing the book carefully and putting it aside. She slipped off the counter. “I was actually planning to get to the coffee shop early. I don’t have class today, and I kinda really miss the morning shift. Plus, somebody has to open up, right?” She took a large sip of her cocoa and then placed the empty cup in the sink, occupying space by his side next to the counter. She leaned into him, her chin against his shoulder, and watched the steam rising from the coffee machine as it started pouring. Laf let out a discontented sound, running his free hand through her hair.  
  
He turned down to face her, and they looked at each other for a minute, then he leaned in and tried to kiss her again, but she just smirked, twisting away and grabbing the book again, pressing it to her chest. He groaned quietly and tried to pull her back to him.  
  
“My coffee shop, my rules, mon chér, you’re staying. Forget work for a second – come back to bed.” She smiled and reluctantly let him kiss her temple. “I’ll make it worth your time.” He breathed teasingly, leaning in a little more to kiss her neck, which he knew was her weak spot, but she leaned away in his arms suddenly, mouth open, looking at him incredulously. She cocked an eyebrow, running her hand up and down his back.  
  
“Your coffee shop, my ass. Remember that day you puked once because of a hangover-“  
  
He chuckled, a little embarrassed. “Oh come on, don’t bring that one up, mon cœur…”  
  
“-and decided to not come to work and I had to work my ass off with John and Alex to pay your rent? Yeah. Your coffee shop. _Sure_ , Motier.” She said, smirking up at him mischievously.  
  
He looked down at her, his eyes narrowed, and grinned as he shook his head. “I will fire you at some point.”  He said dryly, completely at odds with how he tried to kiss her neck once again. She shivered and giggled and wriggled away, leaving the book on the table and shooting out of the kitchen.  
  
“No, you won’t! Because you love me, shithead!“ he heard her sing-song down the hallway, voice a little muffled by the distance. He laughed again; a moment later, the bathroom fell shut, and the shower started running.  
  
Laf leaned back against the counter, still smiling, knowing she was right; he looked at his bare feet on the white tiles.  
  
The kitchen was bright; filled with light and warmth and the smell of cocoa and coffee and buns.  
  
The sun was rising in New York City, and Gilbert du Motier left the kitchen behind, and, yawning, padded back to their room and crawled back into his bed, where Herc stirred in his sleep when Laf started kissing his neck.  
_  
  
_ HERCULES MULLIGAN was awoken with a frown by someone sucking at his neck lazily. That someone was above him, elbows on either side of his head, loose, frizzy hair tickling his chin and jaw.  
  
His eyes fluttered open when Laf ran a cool hand over his chest and pressed himself closer; Herc muttered his name softly, a hand moving over his back out of habit. He dug his fingertips in a little, trying to adjust to the situation. The light coming from the window was bright, the shower running at the other end of the apartment, and Laf was on him, tipping his head to the side and kissing down his throat now. He inhaled deeply, shifting slightly beneath the other boy. “Laf…”  
  
“Good morning to you, too.” The Frenchman, voice evidently carrying a smirk, sucked at the skin just below his jaw sharply, and Herc couldn’t muffle an embarrassing gasp; his hand moved from Laf’s back up to his hair; he held him in place, raking his fingers through his curls and grinning breathily, but stiffening when Laf’s hand traveled a little downwards, to his navel, then back up a little, and further down. Herc made a soft noise, and tugged at Laf’s hair to get his attention; the Frenchman looked up, smiled, and leaned back in, catching his mouth in a slow, deep kiss.  
  
Laf pushed him down into the mattress a little more carefully than before. Herc sighed, at ease, cradled the other boy’s head and sucked at his lower lip softly, causing him to inhale deeply. Laf was stroking the side of his face, running his thumb over his cheekbone and up into his hair, running his hand through it, and Herc unconsciously tightened his grin on Laf, his other arm coming up and around his waist to pull him closer. Their legs intertwined; feet touching feet, Laf’s sweatpants dragging a little uncomfortably against his crotch.  
  
They kept their hands on the upper half of their bodies, stroking and touching and kissing all the time, slowly slipping into a state of perfect relaxation. Herc breathed slowly and Laf breathed with him, and Herc limply thought that being with Laf like this, without any pressure, without anywhere to be, really – it came so naturally to him, it was so pleasant, it was so simple and so perfect.  
  
Which was why it was even harder to pull away when he did, the solid weight of Laf’s body pressing against him reluctantly. The Frenchman pursed his lips and tugged at Herc’s neck a little.  
  
“A little longer. Alex and John-” they were kissing again now, briefly but sloppily, and when they broke apart again, Laf managed to continue. “They are still asleep, I think-“ another kiss “- and Peggy’s showering, also, she doesn’t mind. Come on.”  
  
Herc sighed, then muttered “A little longer.” and reached up to pull him back down again.  
  
They made out until they could hear the shower stop running; then, Herc pulled away again and held Laf at an arm’s length.  
  
“You’re getting hard. I can feel it through your pants.” He said carefully, and Laf shrugged, chasing after his retreating mouth. “So are you.” He said, truthfully, his lips brushing over Herc’s again, but he nudged him away and stood, Laf letting out a frustrated yelp behind him.  
  
“Give me my sweatpants, baby. I’m going to wake Alex and John. Also, you have to be at work in about half an hour.” He held his hand out, waiting for Laf to take off his sweatpants; he did, if a little reluctantly, and rolled over, grabbing his phone from the nightstand.  
  
Herc walked out of the room and down the hallway, a little uncomfortable without underwear and half-hard in his sweats; he walked past his own room that he barely used anymore. The bathroom door opened behind him, and with a cloud of steam, Peggy shooed out, damp hair up in a bun. She hurried past him in her underwear, shouting that she was getting dressed and then leaving for work as she passed the open door to Laf’s room, and just as he lifted his hand to knock, she raced past him again, now in Mom Jeans and a yellow turtleneck sweater, a backpack over her shoulder; she swiftly said goodbye with a wide smile and stepped into her vans, then she was gone. Herc looked after her with a short laugh, and turned back around afterward, knocking softly on the wood just below the blue spray paint turtle.  
  
“Can I come in or are y’all naked?” he asked loudly, and when there was no reply, he carefully pushed the door open, blinking into the brightness of the room. As soon as his eyes had adjusted to the situation, he saw that the duvet was folded a little messily, the window was cracked and both his friends’ backpacks gone. The room was empty.  
  
Herc stood a little uncertainly for a moment, then shrugged it off. If Alex was already at work, there was no need for him to be; he was assigned to the afternoon shift anyway, and so he decided to just return to Laf and the warmth of their bed.  
  
The day could wait.  
  
He padded back to their room, yawning and finding Laf sitting upright with the sheets wrapped around his bare waist, his hair now up and his phone in his hands. “Hey,” Herc muttered, dropping himself back on the mattress and cuddling up to Laf a little. The Frenchman smiled down at him.  
  
“Hey, yourself.” He returned, and put his phone away as he lay back down with Herc. He reached up and brushed a hand over the side of his face, watching Herc inhale softly, a small smile on his face.  
  
“Oú sont notre petit tourtereaux?” he asked, leaning in to kiss him just below his jaw, and then nuzzled his neck. Herc inhaled quietly, and let his eyes slip shut.  
  
“Not here anymore. Probably already at work, or school. Why, are you worried or something?” he asked with a smirk. Laf made a noise of soft agreement against his neck.  
  
“I am a little bit. Perhaps I am kind of growing a little more parental than I’d like to admit. What do they call me again, mon chér? A… momfriend? What does that even mean?”  
  
Herc suppressed a laugh, and put an arm around Laf, pulling him and his warmth and his familiarity closer. “It means you’re being a good friend, a good friend with motherly qualities. It’s a good thing.” He assured when Laf lifted his head with a frown from where it was hidden in his neck.  
  
“In that case…” he yawned. “Maria said she’s on her way to the shop, and Peggy’s going, too, so I don’t _really_ have to get up. Et toi, mon cœur?”  
  
Herc kissed the top of his head and pulled the blanket up to cover them. “Afternoon shift.” He purred as he pulled Laf closer. A leg slid against his, cool feet bumping against his warm, bare thigh.  
  
“So… we can just stay in bed?”  
  
Herc looked down at the other boy and his happy expression and grinned, a small laugh escaping him and disappearing into the morning light that was coming in through the window.  
  
The sun was rising above New York City and Hercules Mulligan bent down once again to kiss the top of his lover’s head.  
  
“Yeah.” He said gently. “Yeah, Laf. We can.”  
**  
  
** “John, where the hell is Eliza?” JOHN LAURENS startled and stopped scrolling on his phone when he heard Alex’ voice behind him. He looked up at his friend, standing a few feet behind him in the flower shop a little lost, wringing his hands with an anxious expression plastered to his face.  
  
“She hasn’t said anything to me, but she was pretty wasted yesterday, maybe she just overslept. Relax. She’ll be here. What are you so afraid of?” He shrugged, and smiled, squinting as he turned a little further and the rising sun his the side of his face.  
  
Alex sighed behind him sharply, muttering something along the lines of “It’s anxiety, it doesn’t reason. I’m not scared of anything.” defiantly and John believed to hear him stomp his foot. He grinned into the back of his hand and kept scrolling.  
_  
East Village Studio  
111 3rd Ave, New York, NY 10003  
One room + kitchen + bathroom + balcony  
500SF / 8 th -Top floor  
$3.2k a month but willing to negotiate  
● Great view over street and Manhattan skyscrapers from balcony  
● This apartment comes with a tomcat called Alexander and an underground parking space  
_  
John blinked, smiled about the cat’s name, hair flying into his face, and kept scrolling. _These are so fucking expensive…_  
  
He heard steps behind himself and quickly locked his phone, holding it in between both his hands and waiting, biting his lip as Alex sat down next to him on the front step of the flower shop below the shone-on brass sign with another one of those sighs. He leaned against John’s shoulder, a worry still between his eyebrows and glanced at his phone, brushing John’s hair out of his sight, eyeing John curiously.  
  
“What are you looking at?” he asked, and John shrugged innocently. “Nothing.” He muttered, and it sounded a bit like a question. Alex, who was holding his face in both his hands now, slowly grinned.  
  
“I didn’t get a good look, Laurens, but- were those… apartment ads?” he asked cheekily, and John felt himself flush. “No.” he lied, a little too quickly, and shoved Alex’ shoulder when he grinned wider.  
  
“Look, maybe? I don’t know, I feel like we should… consider…” Alex arched an eyebrow.  
  
“Consider what? Moving out?” he asked slowly. John looked at him briefly, then shrugged again, reluctantly unlocking his phone and showing Alex the studio he’d looked at.  
  
“The cat has the same name as you.” He added quietly, smiling while Alex stared at the screen, then handed his phone back.  
  
“Look, no offense, but we’re not moving into a place with a cat.” He said dryly, and John blinked, surprised that he was onboard with the idea in the first place so easily. “Why not?”  
  
“Because I said so.” Alex looked the other way, blinking into the sunlight and brushing his hair away from his face again, and John felt himself starting to smirk.  
  
“Are you scared of cats?” he asked slowly, and Alex whipped back at him, glaring as John cracked up. “No?! I would just, uh, one-hundred-percent step on it. Obviously, I’m not afraid of cats!” John pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. “You’re scared of cats!” he shouted triumphantly, pedestrians turning to glance at them, the two idiots sitting all curled up on the front step of the flower shop. Alex shoved his shoulder, pouting.  
  
“I’d step on it! Asshole!” He grabbed John’s phone again, leaning harder into his side, his cheek on John’s shoulder as he looked at the screen a little dreamily.  
  
“Besides, it’s so far away from our friends.”  
  
“The Schuylers live quite close to it. And it’s closer to my school.” John offered with a shrug. Alex pulled a face. “But Herc and Peggy and Laf don’t. And you have more money than me, you can take the subway every morning. I’m just sad and broke. And a literal orphan.” He added, then looked down at his knees for a brief second before starting to type something into John’s phone.  
  
John leaned closer to watch what he was doing, but then just ended up eyeing Alex’ face, his long lashes, the curve of his smile and his high-set cheekbones, his moles and the way his hair was curling softly now that it was shorter.  
  
_He’s so pretty. Alex, you’re so pretty._  
  
“Look at this one.” Alex suddenly said, holding the phone out to him. John took it and narrowed his eyes at the bright pictures of large windows and dark wooden floors, whitewashed walls and a clean, bright kitchen. A potted plant in a narrow hallway.  
_  
Brooklyn Loft_

_194 Atlantic Ave, New York, NY 11201  
Two (small) rooms + kitchen + bathroom  
_ 709SF _/ 3 rd floor  
$4.0k a month  
● Old building with big windows; gets a bit cold sometimes but wonderfully cool in the summer  
● Pets allowed, small balcony, climbing plant that is too big to move in the hall but it looks really cute, promise  
  
_“What do you think? It sounds good, doesn’t it? I like the cold.” Alex said quietly, and John glanced at him for a second, about to say ‘ _No, you don’t’_ but then deciding otherwise and running a hand through his hair, shifting a little so that they were facing each other on the steps. “It’s not far away. And it looks so fucking nice.” Alex huffed a weirdly nervous laugh. “I mean, it’s perfect, Alex, but…”  
  
He trailed off and the other boy made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Yeah, I know, it’s super expensive.” He took a breath. “I think we could manage, though. Somehow.” They looked at each other for a moment, gazes lingering, and then, Alex sighed and took John’s hand, cradling them both in his lap.  
  
“Alright, moving on. Do you think we can afford anything that is not a studio? I really want to have a workspace again sometime. A nice fucking workspace, John.” They grinned at each other, and John looked into his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in them for a second, then straightened a little when his phone buzzed, a reminder rolling in. It was a little past half to 8 am, and John’s train would leave in ten minutes. He poked Alex’ arm with his phone and smiled a pained smile when Alex, who had looked away again, towards the sunrise with a narrow-eyed smile, turned to look at him, an eyebrow lifted.  
  
“I gotta go.” He said regretfully, and Alex let out a soft noise, gripping his arm tighter and pulling a face.  
  
“No…” he breathed, and lifted his hand, running it up and through John’s hair, making him shiver just a little. _God, not right now._  
  
John reached for his backpack and slung it over one of his shoulders, ready to go but not quite willing to do so. His hand was still resting in Alex’ lap, and he looked down at him, smiling and finding himself struck with the desire to kiss him for a brief moment. The thought came more out of habit than anything else; it wasn’t a particularly emotional moment, nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but John just wanted to kiss him; kiss him like they used to. _  
  
_ Were they already kissing again? John wasn’t sure.  
  
They were back together, obviously, but they hadn’t really done anything of the sort over the past weeks since Alex was back. Things were so messy and fragile between them, maybe he should give it some time, but Alex was smiling, eyebrows raised, obviously waiting for him to say something, or do something. His hand was still tangled in John’s curls, and the sun was so bright behind him; bright and promising and new and John just really, really wanted to kiss Alex right now.  
_  
_ Because he lied about liking cold when he was actually the most touch starved individual John had ever met. And because ever since they’d started sharing a bed again, he slept so close to John that John always awoke feeling his heartbeat in his entire body, and because he didn’t take sugar in his coffee, and because when he smiled, his entire face smiled and he got wrinkles everywhere.  
  
Because John had tried to be able to live without him and had failed. Because Alex pretended to have read Nietzsche and made John shiver with just the looks he gave him, because he used to wear space buns and piggy tails every now and then, and because he didn’t sleep a lot, because he sang musical soundtracks in the shower and because he left his books everywhere, because he didn’t like his glasses but wore them when John was around because he knew how much John liked them, and because and he hated Titanic because it made him cry.  
  
Because John knew him so well.  
  
He knew every inch of skin, every mole, every freckle, every hair, every scar, every soft spot and imperfection and loved all of them. Loved all of _him_.  
  
Alex was smiling at him, and John looked into his eyes and still, after everything they’d been through, the sky was the limit when Alex smiled, and John wanted so badly to kiss him.  
  
So he did.  
_  
_ He leaned in, and hesitating for just a millisecond before he slid his hand into Alex’ soft hair and connected their lips in a soft kiss.  
  
He was caught off guard when Alex gasped loudly against his lips, and then let out something broken, caught between a screech, moan and a sigh, and almost fell towards John, hands in his hair and on his neck when he pulled him closer.  
  
Something was burning up inside John’s chest, he could tell; he proximity and Alex’ reaction had fan some kind of spark into a flame, and John was drunk off of it, the way Alex was practically panting against him, the way their kiss tasted like curiosity and terrible, aching yearning, peppermint toothpaste and a new beginning. Alex’ entire body was tense beneath his touch, and the thought occurred to John that he might push him away.  
  
But then he felt another harsh breath against his lips, reminding John faintly of the kind of deep sigh you let out when you came home after a long, exhausting trip, dropped yourself on the bed and exhaled deeply; like stray molecules of your body, left behind in the car or the train or the plane were finally returning to you.  
  
When he felt the familiar press of Alex’ tongue against his mouth, he parted his lips willingly, his heart thudding loudly and blood roaring in his ears. Alex tightened his grip in his hair, and John wanted to smile and cry because.  
_  
He’s kissing me. He’s kissing me and I’m kissing him.  
  
My God. I’m the luckiest man in the world.  
  
_ They broke away, both panting, still holding each other close and Alex was smiling.  
  
“Does this mean we’re okay again?” he asked quietly, brushing hair away from John’s forehead and straightening the collar of John’s small-plaid shirt a bit. _  
  
_ John looked up at him, brushing his knuckles over his cheek with a soft, adoring smile. “Jesus. We were okay before, weren’t we? I can’t even remember a time we were not okay, Alex. Of course, I was a fucking wreck when you left. I was such a mess, you have no idea. And you already know I was worried as hell, but- surprisingly” he paused, looking down at Alex’ hand lingering on his chest.  
  
They were so close, intertwined, Alex’ heartbeat was in his hand and John’s chest, and he opened his mouth to speak again. “-Surprisingly, I was never angry.” _  
  
_ Alex looked at his feet, scratching at the step with the tip of his shoe. “You had every right to be, though…” he murmured, and John took his face into his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye.  
_  
_ “But, Alex. Hamilton, you dipshit. Look at me.” Alex did, and his eyes were so sad that John had to pause to lean in again, kissing him with force and insistency, his face in both of John’s hands. Alex held them in place at his wrists, melting against John with a short, desperate whine that almost sounded like a sob. John could feel him shaking, but he wasn’t crying, it was probably caused more by the fact that being this close to John made him feel so much he physically shook.  
  
The thought made John feel warm all over; he deepened the kiss without being able to stop himself, pressed himself flush against Alex, relishing the little noise he made, startled, overwhelmed, and John, running a hand through his hair, wished for some more time, wished he didn’t have to go to class; wished he could stay right here with Alex on the front step of the flower shop and stay in this kiss. This kiss that felt so right and perfect, like it was the best one yet, of all the kisses they’d had. Like it was the one thing John had been missing out on.  
_  
_ Alex was scrabbling for purchase on the collar of John’s shirt, his breathing coming in short gasps as he clung onto him, and it took John all his willpower to finally break away.  
  
Alex chased after his retreating mouth, his eyes not wanting to come open, and for a second John could see what he looked like; what John kissing him just now had made him look like.  
  
He looked like a man on fire. A man aching with the need to be held, aching with the need for contact, for a love only John could give him. Like he was drowning and John was air.  
  
It made his head swim, and so he picked his sentence back up as quickly as his breath allowed it.  
  
“That I was worried or frustrated or broken up doesn’t mean that I ever, for one second, Alex, stopped loving you. Like, don’t get me wrong. I tried really hard to be fucking angry. I used so much energy on trying not think about you that I ended up constantly thinking about you without even noticing it. I tried so, so hard to hate you and blame you for everything bad that had ever happened to me, but let’s be real, that’s never going to happen. I can’t stop loving you. It’s fucked up, Alex. I really can’t stop. It’s like some damn addiction.”  
  
They both chuckled nervously, Alex finally having managed to open his eyes. They were glossy and huge, pupils blown as he was fidgeting with the edge of his apron. A slightly awkward silence built up between them until Alex finally said something.  
  
“So… so you still love me? We still have a shot?”  
  
John huffed an incredulous laugh and slung his arm around Alex’ shoulder, pulling him into a hug. “Jesus. How are you even asking me that?” he breathed, pressing his face into Alex’ hair. The other boy buried himself against his chest and murmured “I’m glad.” with a weary sigh, winding his arms around him and hugging John back like this was it, this was exactly what he’d been missing to be okay, for three months and a little more. John ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and breathing with Alex for a while until the other boy finally broke their silence. He pulled back a little and wiped at his eyes furtively.  
  
“You should get going.” He muttered. John nodded and grabbed his backpack a little tighter, carefully standing. His knees were weak, and he pulled Alex to his feet, too.  
  
“I’ll see you at lunch, right?” Alex asked. John shook his head. “Live drawing class. But I’m free after 3 pm, we can see each other then.”  
  
Alex shook his head at that, too. “No, I have my Monday session at 3. But tonight.” He said, a hint of a promise in his voice. John nodded and smiled; it was him who had told Alex to go see a therapist a while after he’d returned; and Alex, either too weak for protest or actually onboard with the idea of getting therapy, had obliged.  
  
“Tonight,” John repeated. They stood silently, close and smiling at each other, then, after a while, Alex reached out to fix John’s collar and brush hair behind his ear. “Take care, shithead.” He said softly. John let out a laugh and grabbed Alex’ hand before he managed to pull it away. He lifted it to his lips to kiss his knuckles before pulling away.  
  
“Take care yourself!” He shouted and grinned, waving back at Alex standing in front of the flower shop as he made his way to the subway station. As he devaluated his ticket, his mind wandered to the second apartment they’d read about, the probably unaffordable one down on Atlantic Avenue.  
  
The sun was rising above New York City and John Laurens got on the subway to Franklin Street, to school, thinking about what waking up in Alex’ arms every sunrise again would feel like, and asking himself what the future would hold for him; what would be his story to tell.  
_  
_  
ALEXANDER HAMILTON stared after John as he crossed the street, turning into a smaller shape in one of a thousand, disappearing in the distance in the subway station close to Atlantic Avenue.  
  
He stood and watched and smiled, and his cheeks were aching from smiling for so long, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Only when he forced himself to blink, he realized suddenly that of all the things he’d said to John, the kind of things you said to your lover when you wouldn’t see them the whole day, when you saw them off in the morning, he’d forgotten to tell him that he loved him, and the thought caused him to look down at his feet on the sidewalk, at his green apron a little anxiously.  
  
Did John know that he loved him? He had to know. Alex had told him countless times, he’s whispered, moaned and yelled it, “I love you.”, and the way they’d just kissed was practically a love confession, but what if John didn’t remember? What if he somehow, _somehow_ didn’t know?  
  
Alex wiped at his eyes again, then wiped his hands on his apron and fished for his phone in his jeans pocket.  
  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I love you, you know that, right  
**JLau  
** Alex  
I only just left calm down  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** No I mean it  
I love you  
A real fucking lot  
John Laurens  
**JLau  
** Jfc  
I love you, too Alex  
Surpriiseee  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** You’re an idiot  
**JLau  
** You like it  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I like it a lot  
**JLau  
** Good one  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I already miss you  
Why can’t you work the morning shift anymore  
**JLau  
** Because I am learning how to become an artist at an expensive school  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** You’re already an artist babe  
**JLau  
** Gross stop flirting  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** But  
bUT  
I LOVE FLIRTING  
**JLau  
** EITHER FLIRTING GOES OR I GO  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** …  
**JLau  
** Too soon?  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Don’t make jokes like that I am sensitive  
**JLau  
** Bit of your own medicine  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I hate you  
**JLau  
** You’re ruining all the nice things you said a couple of minutes ago  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** On purpose  
**JLau  
** … sure Jan  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** Stow ya memes Laurens  
Oh god  
I need to open up soon and Eliza is still not here  
What if someone wants flowers John  
I have forgotten how to talk to people when I had my hair cut John  
what DO  
**JLau  
** GIVE ’EM HELL GRASSHOPPER  
**A-Dot-Ham  
** I AM NOT THROWING AWAY MY SHOT  
  
Alex grinned to himself, stowed his phone back in his pocket and repeated the phrase to himself. _I am not throwing away my shot. I am not throwing away my shot.  
_  
“I am not throwing away my shot.” He muttered, and then went back inside, the cold and the familiar smell of the flower shop embracing him as he picked up the first bucket to carry outside, unconscious of his own choice of flowers.  
  
Only when he stepped outside, standing on the upper step for a moment and the morning light hit the shining yellow blossoms leaves and dark brown heads, droplets of water sitting on the flowers’ large leaves, he looked down, blinked and smiled.  
  
_Well, that’s a long journey we’ve made, huh? And now, in the end, we’re right back where we started._ He caressed the leaves carefully; the left his fingertips a little damp, but he didn’t mind.  
  
For now, Alex was done journeying. For now, New York was his final destination, because he was done not being home. He wasn’t going to leave again.  
  
He was staying. With John. In New York.  
  
And every day, they would get up at sunrise.  
  
They would have breakfast and go to work. John would be with him for a while and then they would kiss goodbye and John would go to class, and Eliza would arrive late, and she would apologize like Alex used to himself. They would work and on free days, Alex would meet John for Lunch at the Café Adrienne or at Tom’s Diner, and they would steal each other’s food and kiss when no one else was paying attention.  
  
They would walk past the church and the hospital on their way to Brooklyn Heights park, and they would go to the graveyard on Sundays, and Alex would bring Rachel flowers like he used to.  
  
And little Theodosia’s choir would keep practicing in the church, and the sun would keep rising, day after day after day after day.  
  
Yes, things were going to be alright.  
  
It was only a matter of time.  
  
The sun was rising above New York City and Alexander Hamilton looked down at the bouquet of sunflowers in his arms.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. You made it to the end guys. We made it.  
> And honestly, I don't know if I wanna smile or cry right now, in fact, I'm doing both, so you know. Compromising is important.  
> So yeah. It's over and hOLY FUCKING SHIT I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR NINE MONTHS WHAT DO I DO WITH MYSELF?????  
> Buuut I'm going to save that mental breakdown for later because now, I have some stuff to say.♥♥♥ (I'm emotional af prepare for typos and tissues)
> 
> First of all, I would like to gift this mess/work to someone. To two people, actually. 
> 
> Firstly, to the Laurens to my Hamilton.  
> This started because of you, and you continued to inspire me all along the way. Elisa, thank you so much for your continuous being-there, picking-me-up and being amazing and inspiring and being in my life in general. To art class cuddles and a thousand more stories we can tell. Kick me in the face tomorrow for being the sap I am. (This is what loving you feels like.) I love you so much and I'm so grateful, every day. 
> 
> And, of course, always, to Emma, best of sisters, best of women. Thank you for your continuous support and wonderful beta work. You were there from the very start, (remember those ten way too tightly handwritten pages I gave to you sometime in January, asking for feedback? Lol good times back when I used handwriting). And honestly, where would I be without you, because you blow them all away.
> 
> That's not it though, because just maybe I have a little more to say here - couple of thank yous. (This is just turning into that thing authors put at the ends of books but well. Sorry. Deal with it and please don't hate me.)
> 
> I would like to genuinely thank my friend Laura, as well. For reading and screeching with me and because you're a million sunrises in one and I love you so much.  
> Also, my friends who had to endure me after all nighters and during especially hard chapters. Sorry about that and thank you for not hating me anyway.  
> There's also a lot of people who betaed smaller parts of this. Shoutout to those amazing souls. Another couple of shoutout to @nanase12, @kxkka, @asher_loves_turtlez, @WritingForTheRevolution, @Falconfeathers23435, @mariewritesfluff, @maerzkindt, @SpectralSylveon, @starlightinterlude, @fromstarttofin, @iwritetrash and @robkira. I see you lurking with those just below character limit comments wtf guys thank you so much
> 
> And then, there's you guys, all of you guys. Well. Where to begin?
> 
> I know you're probably tired of hearing it by now, but to me, honestly, it never gets old to say this: THANK YOU. For everything.  
> For waiting and commenting and keeping me going with feedback and lovely messages on tumblr and supporting and taking your time to read my work in the first place. I know it's kind of a stupid thing to say after finishing a 200k story, but I have no words, no words to describe just how grateful I am, and how honored I feel to be considered worth your time by you. Thank you for patience and kindness and responsiveness; I really couldn't ask for anything more. Thank you for sticking with me throughout these months. Thank you for letting me grow. Thank you.
> 
> Writing this was amazing. Granted, it was hard a lot of times, and it caused me pain, but it made me feel so much. I've grown so fond of these characters and since I know you have, as well, I do plan to return to this verse; maybe in just a little while, maybe by Christmas or next spring, or next summer, I don't really know yet, but I will return. I loved making myself at home in this verse. I hope you did, too.  
> I told this to a handful of people already; I do plan to keep writing fanfiction, Hamilton and specifically Lams. I have lots of ideas and wow I still love these two idiots just as much as in the beginning (if not more hahaa)  
> I have a couple of concepts lying around in my room and on my pc, but none of them are quite ready yet. But you will hear from me! You will definitely hear from me! Maybe there's a Lams college AU including lots of unadmitted feelings, coffee study dates and autumn metaphors and fuckboy Alex coming your way, who knows!
> 
> I'm just taking a break for a little while to focus on school (tenth grade is harder than I expected) and my mental health (and sleep schedule haha), but I loved writing this, I love writing *insert some gif of Lin screaming here please. Or no wait the one where he dances while Anthony and Jasmine sing in that Ham4Ham vid. You know it friends. We all know the one.*  
> If you want to message me and ask me how the fuck I could do all this to you, again, my tumblr is nordpolkind.tumblr.com. I also rant about my writing there so if you want updates on what I'm doing that's where you should go.
> 
> Anyways. I hope you enjoyed reading this. I know I enjoyed writing it. And whatever is coming, whatever's next, I hope I'll see some of you there.
> 
> Love and hugs and all the gratitude,  
> Marlene xx


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